Mirrored
by brainstorm1001
Summary: What was going to happen to him was something terrifying; all his instincts were rebelling against his decision but Harry resisted. Now it was his turn to make a sacrifice and ensure their survival. Compliant with the DH up to the events in Malfoy Manor.
1. Chapter 1

**Mirrored**

**Summary: **What was going to happen to him was something terrifying; all his instincts were rebelling against his decision but Harry resisted. Now it was his turn to make a sacrifice and ensure their survival. Compliant with the DH up to the events in Malfoy Manor.

**Pairings: **Voldemort/Harry (later), Ron/Hermione

**Warnings: **violence, character's death, my sense of humour :), some slash (also later), etc.

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimers: **I don't own Harry Potter.

Thedoctorwho07 is the author of the awesome pic which I find really suitable for this story. link: thedoctorwho07 . deviantart . com (no spaces)

Thank you for the permission to use it!

**Author's note: **This is my second story which I post here on FFNet (TCI and TLA can be considered as one). I hope I will have time to update regularly. At the beginning you may find some similarities with HP7 book, but I promise the story will get a lot different later on.

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**Nail in the coffin**

xxxxx

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Harry drew in a long, ragged breath and held it in until his lungs hurt.

He shouldn't have agreed to their help and company. He would be probably long dead by now, but this would have never happened.

Slowly, he peered around the edge of the sofa, clutching the stolen wand in a sweaty hand. Bellatrix stood directly in his field of vision, supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and holding her short silver knife to Hermione's throat.

"Drop your wands," Bellatrix whispered icily. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

"I said, drop them!" she screeched when neither of them moved. She pressed the blade deeper into Hermione's throat until a few beads of blood appeared there.

"All right!" Harry shouted and got up quickly, dropping Bellatrix's wand onto the floor at his feet. Ron, who stood close beside him, did the same with Wormtail's before they both raised their hands to shoulder height.

"Good!" she derided, her breast heaving wildly. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

Harry knew it; his scar was bursting in flames. He could feel Voldemort flying through the sky from far away, over a dark and stormy sea. Soon he would be close enough to Apparate to them and Harry saw no way out.

"Now," Bellatrix said softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix stood directly beneath it; she dropped Hermione and threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face. As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took the chance and leapt over an armchair. He wrested the three wands from Draco's grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, _"Stupefy!"_

The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground.

Narcissa hurriedly dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, but Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife. Narcissa, however, directed her wand at the doorway.

"Dobby!" she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. "You! You dropped the chandelier?"

The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.

"You must not hurt Harry Potter," he squeaked.

"Kill him, Cissy!" hissed Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa's wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.

"You dirty little monkey!" shrieked Bellatrix. "How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

"Dobby has no master!" squealed the elf. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"

Harry gasped as his pain suddenly peaked.

The scar on his forehead twitched as if it was alive and his stomach churned horribly. Dimly he knew that they were running out of last seconds before Voldemort was with them.

"Ron, catch – and GO!" he yelled, throwing one of the wands towards him. He saw it spin in the air, he saw Ron's hand reaching for it, but then with a loud booming sound the door suddenly crashed open and Harry's mind instantly filled malevolent euphoria accompanied with the worst surge of agony. He sank to his knees, holding his molten forehead, praying that Ron and Hermione made it, that they got away…

Ron's terrified gasp, which reached him only a second later, crushed all his hopes to dust. It was too late and Belatrix's exhilarating cry only confirmed his darkest thoughts.

"Dobby!" he called out blindly, still clutching his pulsing scar, "Hurry! Take Ron and Hermione out of…!"

A green flare penetrated his closed eyes and as he opened them in terror, he saw the house elf enveloped in the deadly light. Their eyes met for one last moment before the void filled those large glassy orbs and Dobby's small body began to sink to the floor.

"NOOOO!"

Harry caught him before he fell and pulled him closer with his shaking hands, embracing him gently.

"No … please, no… Dobby… _Dobby!_"

Rage and sorrow rose inside him like a tidal wave and that small, sick, gleeful part of him, which was connected to that monster standing in the doorway, was only adding fuel to the fire in his soul. He wanted to grab Belatrix's knife, tear his chest open, cut out that rotten piece and stuff it down Voldemort's throat!

But he couldn't mourn for Dobby now, no matter how much he hurt. He had to find a way how to get them all out of here first. He was still alive and so was Ron and Hermione and if he wanted them to stay like that he had to think of something as fast as possible.

He glanced at them briefly, yearning some reassurance, and noticed immediately that the wand which he threw Ron was far behind him as someone disarmed him. It meant that he had to get back to the other two which he dropped in the worst surge of pain, but he had no idea how he was going to do that since he could feel Voldemort's flaming eyes on him. Any wrong movement and he would be dead. Not that it really mattered since Voldemort planned to kill him anyway.

"My Lord! As the master of this house, I am proud to present you with Harry Potter!"

Harry raised his eyes and looked at Draco's father who spoke to Voldemort, kneeling at his feet like some pitiful slave.

"You?-!" Bellatrix cried out as she sank before the tall, emaciated dark figure as well. "I don't remember you having _any_ right to give him over! My Lord, it was I who summoned you and…"

"_I_ caught Potter, My Lord!" Greyback stepped out of the shadows, limping and holding his broken ribs, but apparently conscious again thanks to his inhuman heritage. "Whatever they say, my Lord, it was I who caught him!"

Voldemort said nothing to any of them. Harry could only feel that intent gaze of his blood red eyes watching him from the shadow.

"Be quiet you gold-obsessed scum!" Bellatrix spat at the werewolf, drawing back Harry's focus to her. Greyback bared his teeth at her but she wasn't abashed in the slightest as she continued her hateful tirade. "You're not even worthy of our Lord's attention! Stop bothering him with your filthy half-bree…!"

"Enough!"

That quietly spoken word was colder than an arctic wind and froze the upset witch in the middle of the sentence. She scooted back to a humble position by Voldemort's feet, kissing his robe apologetically. Harry would have snorted in disgust if he weren't so desperate and clueless about finding a way out of this mess.

"I am…," Voldemort paused as he slowly emerged from the shadows, allowing Harry to see his pale, terrifying snake-like face in sharp clarity. Cold fear squeezed his madly beating heart and for a moment Harry struggled to breathe. He failed in his task … he failed everyone…

"…very disappointed," the dark wizard finished softly, a hidden threat trailing in his voice. "If I arrived just a moment later, I could only watch Potter disappear again. Is that how you wanted to hand over the boy to me, Bellatrix?"

"No! No, my Lord!" she cried; her heavily lidded eyes were glistening, reflecting her growing desperation. "It was all the fault of that dirty little house-elf who appeared here and helped Potter out!"

"So, you all were nearly thwarted by a single _house-elf_?" Voldemort whispered in a cruel, mocking voice.

"M-My Lord…!" Bellatrix stuttered on the brink of tears, her face darkening in shame.

"Silence! Not another word from you, Bellatrix. You're dismissed."

Voldemort cut her off harshly, no longer paying her attention as he moved closer to his soon to be victim. Harry looked around wildly; he couldn't miss the spiteful grimace the older Malfoy made at Bellatrix behind her back. He couldn't quite care about it either. He needed some idea – anything would be fine at this very moment. But his mind was completely blank and for once he felt utterly hopeless. There was no help coming, only Narcissa holding Draco in her arms in a faraway corner and Ron embracing unconscious, bleeding Hermione the same way he held Dobby's fragile body. Harry glanced at his best friend who returned his gaze dully, as if he were saying goodbye to his life. 'Don't give up,' Harry mouthed words of comfort he didn't feel. Still, it seemed to pull his best friend together a bit. Ron gave him the tiniest nod and Harry quickly gathered his courage and looked up at Voldemort, who was slowly approaching him.

"_Famous_ Harry Potter," the Dark Lord whispered cruelly, "…we meet again at last."

Slowly, he drew his yew wand between his long, white fingers.

"Ah, I wanted to do this with the Wand of Destiny but apparently this one must suffice for one more time."

Harry, having a very clear idea of what was coming, laid Dobby carefully on the floor and then, using his trained reflexes, he tried to snatch one of the wands behind him. They flew away just before he could touch them and fell on the floor with a clattering noise a couple of feet farther.

"Don't even think about it, Potter. This time I won't play fair. This time you'll simply _die_."

Hatred boiled up in Harry after hearing those words. Slowly, he got up and straightened his back.

"I will kill you, but first you must repay me some of that humiliation, which I suffered because of your impossible luck."

He flicked his wand and Harry felt his spine curve the same way he experienced back on the graveyard, but then Voldemort suddenly changed his mind and released him, pointing his wand towards Ron and Hermione instead. Before Harry had time to scream in horror, he heard him say.

"_Rennervate."_

A moment later Hermione stirred in Ron's arms, looking owlishly around before she froze with a fearful gasp as everything sank in her mind.

"I want both your friends to see this," Voldemort explained and his voice shook with a malicious pleasure.

"Now kneel before me of your own will or watch them die."

With his heart pounding painfully against his breastbone, Harry turned his head towards Ron and Hermione.

Ron's lips moved and Harry knew what he was saying – 'he will kill us anyway.'

A shard of ice pierced that throbbing muscle inside Harry's chest. He couldn't let that happen – and he still didn't know how to stop it!

"It's not wise to keep me waiting, Potter."

Harry turned back towards the Dark Lord and slowly dropped to his knees.

"Ah … yes. This is so much better than the Imperius Curse. Good, very good. Now, what else will you do to make them live a little longer?"

Harry said nothing, only gritted his teeth. He was sure Voldemort knew that the answer would be _almost_ _everything_. And that scared him. But he refused to show his fears and increase Riddle's amusement.

"Such a fierce spirit … it's almost admirable," Voldemort sneered down at him as he circled Harry in a leisure pace.

Harry kept his head proudly up, even when Voldemort stopped before him again.

"Now, beg me to spare them," he ordered coldly. "Plead for mercy; grovel on the floor like everyone else and I may consider it."

Harry's whole body locked up in disgust. He looked away, unable to utter a single word. His hands curled into tight fists and he clenched them harder and harder until it hurt.

"You won't?" Voldemort asked. "You still haven't learned your lesson, have you? I believe I told you once that obedience is a virtue you ought to be taught before dying."

"My Lord!" an ecstatic shout came somewhere from behind the dark wizard. "Let me teach him, please! I'll torture that girl again and her screams will make him beg like a child!"

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort whispered softly, tilting his head aside a little. "You were dismissed."

"M-master, I … I … thought that maybe you would like to reconsider…?" she said haltingly as she came into Harry's peripheral view. Her voice was trembling and pleading.

Voldemort didn't answer, but according to her devastated face, he must have given her one of his merciless looks. She deflated before Harry's eyes, finally coming to understand her punishment. She was not allowed to watch the moment of her master's triumph.

Just a few seconds later the burning feeling returned to Harry's forehead, telling him that he was being watched again. It was when the door closed behind Lestrange that Voldemort spoke again.

"I'm not at all surprised that you refuse to cooperate, Potter. No matter, I intend to deal with this quickly anyway," he said and tapped the wand against his fingers, before giving him a mirthless smile. "However, first you will watch how I kill your friends. That will, without a question, break your fragile mind and that's all I want to see. Now, tell me who should go first - the boy or the girl?"

In that moment, Harry realized with certainty that bordered on madness that he had nothing to lose. He could just kneel there and watch his most important people die the same way Dobby did or he could be murdered first in an attempt to save them. From this point of view, there was nothing to consider. He knew he will be fighting back even if there was no chance left.

Harry looked up at Voldemort and since he was already prepared to perish the next moment, he easily gave in his boiling rage.

"Ladies go first, my Queen," he snarled through his teeth, fierce hatred pulsing in each of his words. And then he shot his tightly clenched fist into Voldemort's groin, which was coincidentally within reach and just at his eye level.

It was a precise hit. Harry could feel his knuckles meet the hard bone, causing all the fleshy parts in between considerable damage.

The shriek Voldemort gave in response was far outside the range of any normal human vocal cords. In that brief moment of immense satisfaction, Harry watched the tall body curl inward as if it wanted to implode. The long claws found and scratched Harry's face painfully as the howling man dropped to his knees, but Harry disregarded it in order to aim his other fist to the small cleft of Voldemort's chin. He hit it with the same precision and with a quiet snap of the two rows of teeth colliding together the dark wizard fell over, the wand momentarily slipping from his fingers.

This was the opening.

This was the chance Harry stopped hoping for.

He leaped after it, but Voldemort was right behind him, tearing his jacket and shirt to shreds and scratching his back raw in delirious fear of losing his wand to his greatest enemy.

"LUCIUS!" the Dark Lord shrieked the first coherent word and Harry could see by the corner of his eye the blond man wake up from his shock and rush towards them to help his master.

Giving everything to the one last attempt he had, Harry, still lying sprawled on the floor under Voldemort's weight, stretched forward as much as he could and then a little further and finally caught the handle of the yew wand between his index and middle finger. He pulled it in his hand, fighting down a strong urge to turn around and blast the Dark Lord's head away. It wasn't possible to kill him yet, so it was meaningless to give it a try. Harry needed to destroy his Horcruxes first. He had a task to do. And to fulfil it, he had to get out of here – now.

He threw the wand across the room before Riddle had any chance to wrestle it from him and Voldemort, since his existence depended on it fully, followed the wand's direction blindly, screaming orders at his followers to stop them no matter what.

The red light of a Stunning Spell sang in Harry's hair as he got to his feet and he glanced aside, seeing Lucius hit the floor in an undignified manner.

"HARRY!"

Harry turned to the caster of the spell and saw Ron throwing him one of the wands which he summoned, while Hermione, weak and hurt as she was, managed to pull the goblin from beneath the broken chandelier before grasping Ron's hand quickly.

Harry caught the wand expertly, just as quickly moved back to Dobby and seized his small, inert hand.

"_Avada…"_

Harry luckily didn't hear the rest as he turned on the spot and disappeared into unknown, repeating the name of the destination, hoping that it would be enough to get him to safety…

_Bill and Fleur's . . . Shell Cottage . . . Bill and Fleur's . . ._

And then he fell onto wet grass and peaceful sounds of a distant sea filled his distraught mind.

Harry kept his eyes closed, unable to move for a while. Even breathing seemed too difficult to carry out. He felt emotionally drained and completely exhausted.

Sometime later he realized that he came to the right place as Dean and Luna rushed to him and talked to him. He didn't hear what they were saying; as he opened his eyes he only watched Dobby's tiny body lying stiffly before him.

"Ron … Hermione?" he managed to ask a little later and Dean told him that they were all right and that he should follow them to the cottage as well.

"No… I want to bury him first. And I want to do it properly…," he heard himself say quietly.

His scar prickled and burned as he worked, digging deeper and deeper into the ground. One part of his mind felt Voldemort's rage and pain and saw him punishing cruelly those who were left behind in the Manor. As he let loose all his pent-up grief which he had to preserve inside in order to survive, it now shielded him from the impact of Voldemort's rampage.

With a loss of his dear friend, his obsessive longing for the Hallows subsided as well. Had he ever really wanted to shield himself from death when his friends were ready to pay such a price only to protect him?

He felt as though he had been slapped awake.

It was already an early morning when they all had gathered by Dobby's grave and said their goodbyes. Afterward Harry returned with them to the cottage and took a seat by the table in the kitchen. He was staring out at the beautiful, morning scenery through the window, remembering how he pleaded Dobby once never to save his life again. If Dobby listened to him, his little friend would be still alive while he would be already somewhere beyond with his parents.

"Arry … mon Dieu! I just noticed that you'rrre bleeding too! Come here; let me take carrre of it."

Harry turned to Fleur who was speaking to him and felt little stabs of pain as the torn skin on his back protested against the movement.

"I'm all right," he said. "Others need your help more than I do, Fleur."

"Others arrre already resting and healing. Now eez your turn."

Having nothing to say against it, Harry nodded, turned his back to Fleur and whispered a quiet 'Thank you.'

"O' my," he heard her disturbed mutter. "It lookz rrreally nasty. W'o did that to you?"

"You don't want to know," Harry said, watching the sunrays reflecting on the glass of water before him.

"I must clean it firzt," she said and he nodded mindlessly, listening to Bill who talked about Ginny being safe from Hogwarts since the Death Eaters knew now that Ron was travelling with him.

Before he could have asked about how the Weasleys were protected, Fleur spoke to him again.

"There eez a piece of somet'ing in your wound, Arry. I muzt remove it. It may zting a little."

A moment later Harry felt a brief pang of pain and then some unpleasant wetness as his blood began to pour anew from the deep scrape along his spine.

"What eez it?" Fleur said, frowning in disgust. Harry turned around and looked at her bloodied fingertips. She was just about to throw whatever she was holding away, but he caught her hand gently and placed the little object onto his palm.

"It lookz like a … fingernail," she shuddered and wrinkled her nose.

"Then it's exactly what it looks like," Harry said, thinking fast.

He was going to keep that for the time being. There was something about it he wanted to confirm and Hermione could help him with that. But first he had to talk to Griphook and Ollivander.

And he already knew who of the two he will be seeing first.

_**R&R**_


	2. Chapter 2

**xxxxx**

**Colder than ice**

**xxxxx**

"Harry, you're my hero!"

For the past two weeks Ron kept grinning at Harry like that, constantly reminding him what exactly happened in Malfoy Manor. When they arrived, everyone of course wanted to know how they managed to escape and Ron was more than eager to share that information, changing subtly the events on every occasion. In the end, Bill and Fleur, who were the first to hear the story, knew basically the truth, but when Lupin came to tell them the wonderful news that he was a father, Ron was lively describing that after castrating You-Know-Who and beating him senseless before all his Death Eaters, Harry walked out of the opened door with his head high and no one, not even Bellatrix Lestrange, tried to stop him. Harry only shook his head at Lupin who nodded with understanding; neither of them interrupted Ron's recital since his new eagerness to continue in their task was actually for everyone's benefit. Also, Harry was too astonished, delighted and overwhelmed that Lupin wanted him to be Teddy's godfather to care much about anything else at that time. But right now he looked up from the book of advanced potions which he borrowed from Hermione and sighed. Ron may have still found it amusing, but he didn't, not really.

"Stop it," he said and before his friend could say any more, he added. "Let's focus on finalizing our plans, okay?"

"Sure Harry, but I can't help it. Who else can say that they… err…?"

"Touched You-Know-Who's privates? Not many I believe. Do you want me to describe that experience to you?"

Ron's gloating expression quickly changed to a look of abject horror.

"No," he muttered and looked away in embarrassment.

"Then quit talking about it already. It's not that I enjoy being reminded that all the time."

"But Harry, you were so brilliant! I can still hear the sound of his scream!"

Ron's whole face lit up again at the memory, but Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, very brave of me to make such a girly move! Yes, a girly move, Ron! I admit, it was satisfying to hear him howl in pain, but guys simply do not do this to each other. Period. I'm sure you would be screaming the same if something like that happened to you, so would you kindly stop picking on me already?"

A gust of fresh air blew inside the small room as Hermione briskly strode inside.

"I could hear you all the way down to the kitchen, boys," she said reprovingly and threw her thick mane over her shoulder before taking a seat opposite to Ron and Harry. "Anyway, if you want to know my opinion about what you were discussing, I think you were really, really brave, Harry. Anyone else would have simply given up at that point. But, other than that, I must also agree with you. It would have been much better if you could have avoided – _incapacitating_ You-Know-Who," she said and placed a large book which she carried under her armpit on a desktop.

Ron goggled at her comically for few seconds.

"What?-! Hermione! We would be dead if Harry didn't do anything! He was absolutely - ingenious." He had to lower his voice since Hermione pressed her finger against her lips and hissed at him sharply.

"Of course that Harry saved us all and that he was ingenious," she whispered resolutely and began browsing the book she brought. "Nevertheless, until now You-Know-Who only wanted to kill him."

"Only?-!" Ron sputtered out, but Hermione shushed him again.

"Yes. Imagine what will happen the next time they meet, which is, I'm afraid, unavoidable," she said and cast a worried glance towards Harry.

"I prefer not to think about it much," Harry said and rubbed his temples. "He will surely try to repay me the favour in the most painful way possible."

"He won't, if we have destroyed all the Horcruxes by that time," Ron opposed him confidently.

"Right. So we better start working on it now that we suspect where another one is," Harry silenced him and looked back at Hermione.

"Did you find anything, Hermione?"

"Yes, I did," she nodded and pointed her finger at the bottom of the page she was reading. "It should work."

All of them then turned their gazes to a little glass phial which Harry carefully pulled out of his trouser pocket. A long, curled black hair and a small piece of a dead-white fingernail lay innocently at its bottom.

"Are you absolutely sure about it? Because if it doesn't work the way it should then I don't even want to know the consequences."

Hermione's searing look had a power to wither Harry away. She folded her arms over her breast and raised her chin pointedly.

"Of course that I am sure! You can read it by yourself if you don't believe me!" she snapped and pushed the opened book closer to him.

Harry immediately raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Don't misunderstand, I believe you entirely," he tried to amend his mistake, "But I hope you understand my worries."

"Look," she said, sounding a lot more appeased, "The book clearly says that you can use a hair, or a nail, or a piece of skin, basically anything but the liquids. Especially not blood. That would change the potion's properties dramatically."

"In what way?" Harry asked carefully.

"Well, you could probably start thinking as the other person … or share some of his or her personality aspects. This paragraph doesn't specify it any further," Hermione admitted hesitantly.

"Sounds scary. Good thing that I don't intend to add his blood into it," said Harry and raised the phial at the level of his eyes.

"H-hold on! What are you two talking about?-!" Ron whispered angrily. "I thought that we agreed that Harry won't be using the Polyjuice Potion! It's too dangerous! No – it's point-blank insane! You can't possibly consider changing into…"

Hermione's sharp hiss caused that he barely uttered the last words.

"… You-Know-Who!"

"I've been thinking about it a lot," Harry replied as quietly and calmly as he could. "Do you think that I am particularly happy about it? Or that I'm actually looking forward to it? A mere thought of being him traumatizes me, Ron! It makes my stomach turn with disgust, _but -_!"

Harry turned in the chair, looking directly into Ron's eyes.

"It is also our greatest chance to get out of Gringotts alive. You can't deny this! No one will ask questions. No one will control us. It's a free permit in our hands!"

"But _he_ will know, Harry," Ron shook his head, still doubtful. "He will know that we are hunting Horcruxes."

"I'm not sure about it," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Who would confront him? It's not like some of his Death Eaters would ask: 'My Lord, what have you been doing in the bank the other day when you were supposed to be doing this or that?' Right?"

Harry, having Hermione's open support, knew that things were settled then. It was obvious that she was secretly hoping for some back up; she needed someone who would help her play Bellatrix Lestrange confidently. And who could be a better person for that task than Lord Voldemort? And Harry wanted to believe that he could play him well. He visited his mind a way too often and learned most of his behaviour patterns in detail. But, being in his skin for real could easily turn into something else altogether. Harry chased away that thought for it made his throat unnecessarily dry…

In the meantime, Ron ceased his open protests and began to mumble for himself instead.

"If you say so… Still, I don't know if _I_ will be able to handle the company…," he whispered, biting into his cracked lips repeatedly.

It was later that day when they shared the final plan with Griphook. Harry didn't feel comfortable in his company at all. He could tell that Griphook somehow suspected him that he didn't want to give him the sword when the mission was over and so the atmosphere around them was rather tense and reserved. Harry wished he could be more honest with him for deceiving others was against his deepest beliefs but there wasn't much what he could do in this situation.

Afterwards they talked to Bill and Fleur and told them that they planned to leave early in the morning and that they didn't want them to see them off. They were very strict about it for Harry and Hermione had to transform before they left and the less Bill and Fleur knew about their plans the safer they were.

Harry slept miserable that night. He was awake to the wee hours, listening to Ron stir and roll in the bed. He was thinking back to the way he had felt the night before they had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and remembered his determination bordering with excitement. Now he was experiencing jolts of anxiety and nagging doubts. And it was not only because of the fear that it was all going to go wrong. Their plan was good; Griphook knew how to get them to the vault and no one would ever dare to submit Voldemort to any security procedure. Still, none of that helped to ease his trepidation, because he also knew that the result of this mission solely depended on his ability to act like Voldemort and spread that immense fear around himself.

When the early morning finally arrived, Ron slipped from his bed and got dressed in the semidarkness.

Harry put his glasses on and sat up in the bed as well; every nerve in his body seemed to tauten in fearful anticipation.

"I'll wait for you outside," Ron whispered and Harry nodded dully, taking the glass phial and a small bottle with Polyjuice Potion from the nightstand.

He got up quietly, gathered the long black robes which Hermione prepared for him yesterday evening and sneaked into a small cupboard next to the bedroom they shared with Dean. He placed the phial and the bottle on a narrow shelf and leaned backwards against a linen cabinet, breathing deeply to stop his hands from shaking.

The darkness around him was almost comforting. No one will see … no one will know … which of course wasn't true since several people were bound to see and know everything…

It took him a good minute before he braced himself for what was to come and looked at his reflection in an old, faded mirror which was attached to the opposite wall.

"Okay," he spoke to himself. "Just do it. You can do this."

Harry uncorked the bottle and let the nail slide into it. The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of purple and blue. Also, it was steaming a little, but not in a way a hot cup of tea usually does. It rather reminded Harry something freezing cold suddenly brought to warm environs.

Harry hesitantly raised the bottle to his mouth, checking his reflection again. He was so nervous that his stomach was clenching painfully, refusing to take anything in.

A pair of alarmed, brightly green eyes was gazing at him form the mirror.

He gritted his teeth. His friends would understand if he couldn't do this. He could always hide under the Invisibility cloak, playing it safe while exposing his friends to grave danger. That was their alternative plan after all.

The one which Harry refused right away.

The liquid touched his lips. It was too cold for his liking.

Harry shuddered.

What was going to happen to him was something terrifying; all his instincts were rebelling against his decision but he resisted. Now it was his turn to make a sacrifice and ensure his friends' survival.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes tightly, turned the bottle bottom up and drank the whole content in three large gulps.

Immediately, his throat and bowels froze. Harry staggered around, clutching at his stomach, trying to keep his growing panic under control. Something was stealing his body warmth, drawing it speedily into his inert insides, cooling him down to the marrow of his bones. He could swear that his blood turned into an ice - how it was possible that it still continued to flow in his veins, Harry didn't know. His eyes began to burn and he blinked rapidly and instinctively tried to rub them, but the moment he raised his hands to his face, he noticed that his fingers were prolonging fast, losing its flesh and colour like in some horror scenario.

The feeling of sickness peaked and Harry bend forward, gasping loudly. He felt something slide down his face and shortly afterward he heard a quiet jingle on the floor.

It was his glasses which now lay on the tiles by his long white feet.

Quite unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing which fell off his quickly changing body. His pyjama bottoms were pooling on the ground as well, suddenly too large to fit his skinny legs.

More embarrassed than alarmed, Harry abruptly straightened up and his head crashed into the ceiling. His lips escaped a muffled curse, which was uttered in a voice that almost caused him another panic attack.

He caught the ceiling for support and took in a long, wheezy breath. Keeping his eyes closed, Harry desperately fought to regain his composure. When he finally steadied himself enough, he slowly touched the sore place on the back of his head. Even though he expected to have no hair, Harry wasn't prepared that it would feel so unpleasant and strange.

And the most difficult part was still waiting for him. He had to convince himself that it will be absolutely all right to see Voldemort's reflection gazing at him in the mirror when he opened his eyes. Quite unfortunately, it was rather obvious that nothing could prepare him well for that confrontation; his heart fluttered madly in his chest as he finally met the pair of flaming red irises surrounding the largely dilated cat-like pupils. It was just like one of those dreadful nightmares; but this time it was too real to be just a dream.

For one short, irrational moment Harry wished he could lock himself in the darkest room of the Shell Cottage and stay there until the effect of the Polyjuice Potion have worn off completely.

It was just a brief idea. He was freezing too much and his thoughts were soon distracted by violent shivers which racked his body. He needed to get dressed right away.

As he began to put on his dark garments, Harry tried not to look at _his _body too much. He believed that certain Voldemort's secrets should remain undiscovered. However, deep inside Harry couldn't contain sparkles of curiosity. After all he needed to have at least a minimal knowledge of this body since he will be using it for several next hours.

Hesitantly, he glanced down his torso.

Aside the evident gauntness, paleness and lack of any hair, Voldemort's body appeared to be surprisingly human. It didn't really look like something brewed in a cauldron. If Harry really wanted to find something essentially different about his current form, it would be probably that odd agelessness which reflected Voldemort's immortality. He could be twenty, eighty or one thousand years old – nothing about this body indicated to his real age. His skin was smooth and wrinkleless; it may have been too thin and delicate for Harry's liking, yet it retained its human quality. At least it felt that way to him when he ran his hand down his chest. Voldemort also even had a navel, which Harry found particularly fascinating for some reason. In the end, the only part of him which wasn't precisely human was his face – the flattened nose with tiny slits instead of nostrils and his eyes. The longer Harry observed them in the mirror the more he was convinced that Riddle changed his appearance purposely.

Not that he wanted to know why. Harry didn't want to think what he would do, if he suddenly learned that this body fancied snakes, lizards or something even worse. It was deeply calming to know that he wouldn't be staying inside his skin long enough to figure it out. He buttoned up his shirt and pulled the robes over his head before he bent down and took his glasses from the floor, hiding them in one of his deep pockets. Finally he pointed Draco's wand at his sneakers and enlarged them enough so they would fit his elongated feet.

He was almost ready to go now, yet there was one more thing which was still occupying his mind. How was it possible that he could see everything so clearly? If he didn't know that he was standing in the dark, he wouldn't have even noticed. His new eyes had no problem to distinguish tiny cracks on the mirror's surface, a couple of Fleur's long hair on the floor, or a new spider web in the blackest corner of the cupboard. Harry hated to admit that he found this new ability rather impressive.

Moreover, it appeared that his hearing was greatly improved as well. He could listen to Dean's mutters from his sleep or to Bill's quiet snores coming from the sitting room downstairs. Ron seemed to be explaining something to Griphook outside and Hermione just closed the entrance door.

Harry shook his head. Having all these enhanced senses to his disposal, he felt that he finally began to grasp some of the reasons behind Voldemort's extreme superiority complex.

After one last cautious glance in the mirror, Harry opened the door and descended the stairs quietly. He was just passing the girls' bedroom, when his body came to a sudden halt and his breath rattled in his throat.

Did he just hear quiet footsteps?

A second later the door by his left hand creaked and opened a little.

Harry stiffened even more in fearful anticipation. He knew that Hermione was already outside so it had to be either Luna or Fleur. Only seconds separated him from a terrified scream which will wake everyone in the cottage.

Luna came out of the door and stopped as well, but to his surprise she only looked at him strangely with that loony, unfocused gaze.

"It's me … Harry," Harry whispered nervously and instantly regretted opening his mouth and allowing that horribly cold voice deny that statement. He gulped heavily in expectation of approaching doom.

Luna didn't respond right away; she merely scrutinized him with her odd, protuberant eyes before coming to a certain conclusion.

"I liked you better with a nose," she spoke out dreamily and then left without another word, heading towards the bathroom.

Harry took in a deep breath which seemed to restart his heart. Sometimes, he really loved Luna Lovegood and this was definitely one of those moments.

When he finally stepped out into the chilly morning, he was still thinking about how Luna managed to recognize him. It had to be because of his face, his expression. The lack of any control over his emotions may have been helpful this time, but it could represent a big problem in the near future. Harry realized that he needed to improve fast, if he wanted to make a convincing Voldemort. He suppressed another shiver and set off across the lawn towards the Dobby's grave where his friends and Griphook were already waiting for him. Hermione, who already looked like Bellatrix Lestrange, was doing some necessary changes in Ron's appearance while Ron was giving her his advice.

"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome."

"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did… H-Harry!" Ron yelped out suddenly as he noticed him and Harry couldn't miss a flicker of terror in his eyes.

"No need to look so scared, Ron," Harry said as casually as he could. Still, he made his friend wince.

"Stop fidgeting or you'll have your nose crooked, Ron!" Hermione commanded in a deep Bellatrix's voice, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Ron was to be given a completely fake identity, and they believed that the malevolent aura cast by Voldemort and Bellatrix would be enough protect him as well as pardon the presence of a goblin who was supposed to be on the run.

"Here you go," she finally said, stepped aside and cast an insecure glance at Harry.

"What do you think, Harry?"

"Well, he's not my type," Harry said after a brief look-over. "But he'll do."

"What a relief," Ron dared to smile a little as he noticed that Harry was teasing him.

"I wonder…," Hermione began hesitantly, "If I could ask you something, Harry."

She procrastinated a little, even though Harry nodded almost instantly.

"I just wanted to know … what it was like. I mean … how did he taste like?"

Since there was nothing really embarrassing about that question, Harry didn't quite understand why his chilly blood suddenly rushed into his face.

"Any reason why are you asking _that_, Hermione?" Ron muttered and dragged his feet nervously.

"I just – because _she_ tasted really disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots. I only wondered if…"

"Cold," Harry said simply. "Colder than ice. Not a very pleasant experience, trust me."

"By the way, Hermione," he added and pulled his cloak tighter to his body, "Don't look so frightened whenever you're talking to me. Remember, Bellatrix adores him, so try to imagine that I have ginger hair or whatever…"

"Harry!" she gasped out and this time it was her who turned pink in her face. Ron followed her example right away; the blazing red of his ears could be seen even from beneath his long wavy hair.

"I'm glad you see my point," Harry smirked before he realized how scary it had to look on Voldemort's face. Quickly, he wiped off that expression. "Shall we go?"

"Griphook?" he turned to the goblin, who was standing aside, and indicated him to join them.

The three friends glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Chard stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate.

**_R&R_**


	3. Chapter 3

xxxxxx

**Gringotts **

**part I.**

xxxxxx

When the compressing darkness was finally lifted off him, Harry felt Ron's hand leave his grip instantly. Harry understood his friend's barely hidden revulsion to a certain point - and that was also the main reason why he decided not to comment on it; he couldn't hope to cure Ron's instinctual fear with one little side remark.

Besides, Ron's reaction to his appearance wasn't that important for Harry anyway. Now that they safely arrived to their destination, his attention was fast drawn to the busy morning Charing Cross Road. No one seemed to notice their arrival. Muggles were passing them in haste, too occupied by their everyday routines to pay attention to a little inn where a group of four diverse, strangely clothed people secretly disappeared.

The Leaky Cauldron was dark as always but Harry's eyes promptly adapted to the lack of daylight. He could see right away that the place was almost empty. Tom, the old, toothless bartender, who coincidentally shared the same first name with the darkest wizard of all times (whose skin Harry presently wore as brand new clothes), was polishing glasses behind a counter. Apart from him, Harry took notice of a young couple having a quiet conversation in a far corner, two reticent wizards drinking Firewhisky straight from the bottle and an old witch sitting by the counter and smoking a long pipe.

Seeing no Death Eaters at all, Harry relaxed, pulled the hood off his face and rubbed his slightly stiffened nape. That movement was caught by the two warlocks who were drinking their liquor by the table. Both men speedily got up and weaved their way through the inn, trying to disappear as fast as possible without actually running and pushing the furniture away.

Tom had frozen in the act of wiping out the glass. It slipped out of his trembling fingers and broke against the edge of the counter a second later. The splinters spilled over its surface, rattling and clinking, and when the last piece of glass stopped twirling on the floor, the bar fell deadly still.

Those few people who remained in their seats stopped breathing. Harry felt their terrified gazes on himself; he could see their aghast, deadened faces, smell the rush of adrenaline in their veins and hear their silent, breathless prayers.

Their panicky fear was affecting him far worse than he expected. During the previous restless night he imagined many different scenarios about how it would feel to become Voldemort but hardly any of them were half as bad as reality.

He failed comprehend how Voldemort could stand this even for a minute - how _anyone_ could find enjoyment in someone else's agonizing dread. Harry couldn't even _pretend_ to tolerate this, regardless of the fact that their situation required desperate actions.

At that point, he was just a word from cancelling their plan.

"W-welcome, Your Highness," Tom suddenly spoke up in a cracked, subservient voice and hurried around the counter to bow before him so deeply that his face nearly touched his knees. "Your presence is a great honour for us! If there is anything I can do for Your Lordship, please ask away…"

Harry couldn't answer. His throat was blocked by a huge hot potato which somehow appeared in his stomach, crawled up into his gullet and got stuck there. Without looking away from the shaking man, he groped blindly after Hermione's armpit and when he found it, he pulled her after him, leading them all hastily through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard.

"What the hell was that?" Ron whispered disgustedly when they were safely outside. "A little longer and he would start kissing your shoes like one of _his_ bootlickers."

Meanwhile, Harry calmed enough to start breathing again.

"He was just trying to stay alive, Ron," he whispered and caught Hermione's wrist just as Bellatrix's wand tapped the wall before them.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he said as the bricks began to rearrange themselves, opening an archway to the Diagon Alley. "We should seriously reconsider this. I've never felt this bad before. _Ever_."

Bellatrix's dark heavy lidded eyes met his and when she spoke Harry could hear Hermione in that deep, vibrant voice.

"I understand how you feel, Harry. And that's why this decision is up to you."

Harry glanced at Ron, pressing his thin lips together. He didn't actually expect to hear anything else from Hermione. She was supportive of him as always, but not a born leader.

Yes, it was up to him to decide it. And as much as Harry hated the thought of continuing this, he also had no logical arguments to quit. It was just his discomfort he was facing so far, not some mortal danger. Besides, he knew from the start that this won't be easy, so it was only his fault that he hadn't prepared himself better for that.

Slowly, he nodded, drew the hood over his face again and looked ahead at a cobbled street before them that twisted and turned out of sight.

"All right, let's continue. We need to have this done after all."

They entered the Diagon Alley which had nothing in common with the lovely street Harry remembered from long ago. Gone were the shoppers, the stores which pulsed with life, the laughter of kids and hooting of owls – even the sun doesn't seem to shine here the same way it did on the Charing Cross. It was a very quiet place now; more of the shops were boarded up, covered with posters of Harry's face glaring at them from beneath the sign UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.

As they moved farther down the street, Harry noticed a number of dirty, ragged people who sat huddled in doorways. He drew his hood deeper in his face in a desperate attempt to remain unrecognized. Yet, the beggars still melt away before them, searching for the shadows where they could hide and Harry soon realized that the reason for that was actually Hermione who wore no cloak. Bellatrix's presence apparently scared away even the bravest of the men.

"My children!" a high-pitched, dissonant voice suddenly called at them and as Harry whirled around, he noticed a man with bloodied bandage over his eye stumbling across their path. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!" he cried, pointing his finger at Hermione.

"I – I…," she stammered, taking an unsteady step back.

The man lunged forward, aiming at her throat, but then he noticed Harry's face partly hidden beneath his hood. His knees gave out and he sank onto the dirty cobblestone, emitting choked cries as he tried to get away.

"Y-You! _You!_ Murderer! What have you done to them?-! My children! My chidren!"

As Harry watched the man crawl away, he experienced a strong feeling of being something everyone speedily and with disgust removes from their sole the moment they tread into it. That sickening tension in his guts had peaked again, threatening him with disposal of his (fortunately almost non-existent) stomach's content. However, on the other hand, it was also the moment when Harry understood why Voldemort didn't actually make any public appearances. Contrary to his previous belief, the Dark Lord apparently couldn't stand this either. He rather surrounded himself with his most loyal servants who wanted nothing more than to see him happy…

Harry let the man escape, even though he knew that Voldemort wouldn't do that. Once again he was unable to move or react properly. He could only fight down a silly promise on his lips; a promise to find those kids and help them if he could.

"This is - this is really insane. You were right, Harry. We should…," Ron uttered quietly, reading Harry's every thought. But he was interrupted by a sudden shout from behind.

"Madam Lestrange!"

Once again Harry turned after the voice and felt how Griphook grasped and tugged at his robes somewhere above his knee.

"It's Travers," the goblin hissed but Harry couldn't instantly remember who Travers was.

By that time, a tall, thin wizard with bushy grey hair and a long, sharp nose quickly approached them, watching Hermione and Harry in turns.

"Y-yes?" Hermione stuttered slightly, before she composed herself and raised her chin. "What do you want?"

"I was just wondering what are you…?" Travers began suspiciously but then he paused and his uncertain expression changed into a mask of admiration which however failed to hide his fright.

"M-my Lord?" he whispered fearfully and quickly dropped to his knees, sending apprehensive glances up towards Harry's face. "I beg your pardon, my master! I didn't recognize you right away. I – I am terribly sorry."

He hurried over to Harry and kissed the hem of his long robes. It took a great deal of Harry's resolve to withstand it without flinching.

"I am truly sorry, my Lord," Travers still muttered pathetically, "Please forgive my entirely unintentional misbehaviour – I had no idea – I did not expect to meet you here…"

So he was a Death Eater, Harry at least knew that much. Now he could also remember his voice from the day they were nearly captured in Xenophilius's house.

He had to answer him; he had to think fast of something would Voldemort say right now.

"That's enough, Travers," he whispered coolly and silently congratulated himself for the right amount of menace he put into his words.

"Get up," he added when the man remained sprawled by his feet.

Travers obeyed quickly, but he stayed crouched and he didn't dare to look up at Harry's face as he briskly cleaned his dirtied robes.

"Thank you, master," he whispered obligingly. "You are merciful. Would you like to hear my newest report on the Weasleys now or am I disturbing you with my presence and you wish me to leave?"

The moment he mentioned the name, Ron couldn't hold back a quiet gasp. Even Harry felt as if an icy blade was thrust in between his ribs. The world swayed around him a bit.

Travers glanced up at Ron, his eyes narrowing in brief suspicion; he didn't say anything though.

Harry fought to keep his face blank even though he felt like being torn apart; he couldn't question Travers now – they would waste too much of the precious time and endanger the whole mission. But he couldn't just pass it by either, especially when the people he considered his family were in grave danger.

"I want a brief report," he decided in a stern voice. "But you will accompany me on the way to Gringotts; I don't have much time for you."

"Oh, what a remarkable coincidence, my Lord! I planned to visit Gringotts too! It will be my great pleasure to join you!"

Harry gritted his teeth. This was the very last thing they needed – a Death Eater who would watch their every step - and the worst part of it was that Harry wouldn't be able to freely talk to Hermione or Ron anymore. But he needed that information on Ron's family and he could tell from his friends' expressions that they approved his decision.

"Speak then," Harry said in Voldemort's cold, imperative tone and Travers was fast to obey.

"We have finally discovered their hideout, my Lord. We were tracing the owls from Percy Weasley who still works for the Ministry. It was just a question of time before he wrote a letter to his mother. That's how we found out that the Weasleys currently reside at a house of another filthy blood-traitorous witch - Muriel Prewett. Unfortunately, the house is still under a protection of a Fidelius Charm. We believe that Arthur Weasley is their Secret-Keeper and therefore we plan to attack him first…"

"No!" Harry snapped before Ron could turn around and curse Travers where he stood. Though Ron quickly composed himself and hid his wand, Travers looked up at Harry in surprise.

"My Lord?" he asked, obviously confused that he wasn't praised.

Harry bit into his lip hard and his delicate skin failed to withstand the pressure of his sharp teeth. A second later he could taste bitter blood on his tongue. He wiped it off quickly. Now he had to think of a good reason why he yapped at Travers when the man was merely describing him something what sounded like Voldemort's own plan.

"I'm not really interested in the Weasleys right now," he said as calmly as he could. "Keep watching them, but that's all. Do not attack anyone without my direct order."

Harry hoped that this will give them enough time to warn Ron's family about the danger and allow them to move safely to another hideout.

"Whatever you wish, my Lord," Travers responded quickly and cast a quick glance at Hermione before speaking again. "May I ask, master - I am merely curious, my Lord – does that mean that your plans about _the_ _boy _changed?"

It was hard to resist the temptation to inquire for more, to get some more information about Voldemort's plans, but Harry contained himself. It would be too risky – and Harry needed Travers to be fully convinced that he was talking to Voldemort.

"I feel no need to inform you about that, Travers," he said quietly as they began to ascend the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors.

"Of course, my Lord," the Death Eater quickly bowed his head and then he looked at Hermione again, only this time more surreptitiously. Harry suspected him that he thought that Bellatrix was already informed about the changes since she didn't make any comment so far. According to his cold glare, Travers was clearly envious of her which Harry appreciated since that meant that the man had no time to pay attention to his growing anxiety.

They stopped before the entrance door.

As Griphook already warned them, the goblins who usually guarded the entrance were replaced by two wizards with Probity Probes. Now they will see if the new guards will dare to examine the Dark Lord and his companions.

Harry's previous confidence wavered when he saw the men raise the golden rods as they approached them.

Making an instantaneous decision, Harry drew back his hood and flashed his gleaming eyes at the poor guard who stepped nearer to him. The man's reaction was just as Harry expected, if not better. The man stumbled in shock and then knelt before him, muttering a quiet greeting. Relieved, Harry glanced over to the other one, who was already bowing to him deeply.

They opened the door for him a moment later and Harry entered the marble hall of the bank, followed by his friends, Griphook and one unsuspecting Death Eater.

Inside the bank many goblins were already sitting on high stools behind the long counter and serving the first customers of the day. As they were passing them by, the murmur of a quiet conversation was gradually decreasing until it died away completely. Once again Harry felt the weight of everyone's attention rest upon him and suddenly became very much aware of the fact that the robes which Hermione prepared for him yesterday were a couple of inches longer than necessary. They were coiling unpleasantly around his ankles as he walked and he could tell right away that it was just a question of time before they send him to the ground in a greatly undignified manner. Harry tried not to show how much that possibility distressed him.

Therefore, it was a great relief when he safely made it to the desk on the opposite side of the entrance door. Once there, he turned halfway back, giving room to Hermione, who stepped forward, looking a bit timid.

The goblin, who watched them nervously from his stool, managed to stutter out.

"How can I help you today, m-madam Lestrange?"

Hermione quickly composed herself and raised her chin in a passable imitation of Bellatrix's arrogant posture.

"I wish to enter my vault," she said as haughtily as she could.

The goblin recoiled a little. Harry could see how he pressed his lips together and how he licked them a couple of times. The atmosphere changed a little; the pure fear was now supplemented by something akin doubts. Harry could feel the intent stares of the other goblins watching them from nearby.

Then the one sitting across from Hermione spoke.

"Of course. Can I have your identification, ma'am?"

Hermione fidgeted. This wasn't according to their plan.

"Identification?" she finally asked, taken aback. "I-I have never been asked for identification before!"

Harry looked at Ron who nervously shifted on his feet. By the corner of his eye he noticed that Travers was watching them along with many others.

Someone tugged lightly at his robes and Harry glanced down at Griphook who stood beside him. He as saw his lips move, telling him two simple words.

_'Act now!' _

"Your wand will do, madam," the goblin behind the counter said in the meantime. He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in that dreadful moment of realization Harry knew that the goblins of Gringotts knew that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen.

He took a long, resolute step towards the goblin and pushed Hermione away rather rudely.

"Identification?" Harry snapped at him coldly. "Do I look like someone who likes to be kept waiting?"

The goblin before him turned several shades paler.

"M-my Lord, I-I do apologize for this necessary delay, but the new rules..."

"_Whose_ rules?" Harry hissed in a voice far bellow the freezing point.

The goblin began to tremble visibly; he was apparently having problems to breathe.

"I-I … really … didn't want to offend Your Lordship..."

"Really?" Harry interrupted him again, feeling more and more confident in his new role. "Then why am I still waiting here instead of being on the way to the vault?"

"I-I apologize immensely. If – if you follow me, p-please, My Lord."

The goblin slid shakily from his stool and clapped his hands fast. Within a moment a younger goblin appeared by his side.

"I need the Clankers. Quickly!"

The other goblin dashed away only to appear a moment later with a jingling leather bag over his shoulder.

"Give it to me," said the older goblin and took the offered bag before turning back to Harry. "I will be honoured to take you to Madam Lestrange's vault, my Lord."

"Wait – Bogrod!"

Another goblin leaned from his stool and spoke to him quietly but urgently.

"We have special instruction concerning that vault. You should at least ask..."

"After you," Bogrod hissed so quietly that it was almost lost in jingles coming from the bag. When the other goblin didn't reply, Bogrod turned back to Harry and bent his spine again. "This way please, my Lord."

Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione, who appeared rather impressed by his performance. Meanwhile, everyone in the hall was slowly returning to their business; even Travers stopped watching them and stepped closer to the counter, giving over a golden key to one of the goblins.

As Bogrod walked them to one of the many doors which led off the hall, Harry kept glancing over his shoulder in case anything went wrong. But he only noticed that some of the goblins were watching Griphook disapprovingly; no one dared to protest in any way. For a moment Harry couldn't believe that they could be so lucky.

When he reached the door, Harry had to stoop in order to pass beneath the stony frame. However, distracted as he was, he stopped paying heed to his long robes. He stepped on the fabric, lost balance and then he only felt something hit his temple so hard that his vision blurred and darkened completely. His body was sliding to the cold floor and over the loud ringing noise in his ears he could hear distant screams.

"...no! No! Stand aside! Harry! _Harry!_"

Someone turned him on his back and when Harry opened his eyes, he saw his disguised best friend leaning over him, pressing his fingers to his extremely sore temple. But it wasn't the blood on Ron's fingertips that left him speechless.

When Ron noticed Harry's gaze of blank horror, he raised his head towards Hermione who was kneeling across from him, watching him in the same dismayed way.

"What?" he muttered, but then he covered his mouth and his eyes grew comically wide as he slowly came to realize his ultimate mistake.

Harry's eyes quickly refocused on Travers who hurriedly approached them and now he was standing a couple of feet aside, watching them with an expression of a troll who is trying to learn to read.

"W-what did you say? What did you just call him?" he whispered as if he expected that Ron will repeat it.

Hermione, aware of the crisis, got up quickly and turned to him.

"Obviously, he said hurry, hurry! He's from Transylvania which is why he has such a terrible accent! Honestly, what did you think he said, Travers?-!" she snapped at the dumbfounded man.

Then she knelt back beside Harry and lay her hand on his shoulder.

"My Lord," she whispered softly, "Let me assist you..."

Harry slowly sat up and pressed his palm against his bleeding wound.

"I don't need your help," he said, but it didn't sound as harsh as he intended.

Yet his charade didn't matter anymore. It was clear that everything went downhill from this point. He could see them - the goblins and the customers - all of them were trying to take a peek at him while he was sitting on the marble floor, holding his head like a two-year-old who's learning how to walk. He could hear their incredulous whispers, renewed doubts and growing suspicion.

Harry got up as quickly as he could and walked through the door after Bogrod, who was watching him distrustfully. When Hermione, Ron and Griphook got inside the narrow corridor as well, the door slammed closed behind them. But Bogrod didn't lead them any further.

"I have changed my mind," he spoke slowly. "I require Madam Lestrange's full authorization. Since she never showed me her wand, I need to..."

As he spoke the goblin reached out, trying to touch something on the wall.

"Don't let him do that!" Griphook sputtered out and Harry acted instantly.

"_Imperio!"_

A strange warm sensation ran down Harry's arm, connecting his mind with his wand. The goblin's eyes became blank and the corners of his lips raised to form a stupid little smile. He dropped his hand and turned, resuming his waggling walk towards the cart at the end of the corridor.

Ron looked from the goblin's retreating back to Harry and whispered.

"We're in trouble, right? I'm so sorry – I just wasn't thinking! They're suspecting us, aren't they?"

"It's not your fault, Ron," Harry shook his head. "I should have been more cautions but I - I simply don't know how he's doing it – how can he even walk while wearing – _this_?" Harry said and tugged at his robes irritably.

"So what do we do?" asked Ron. "Shall we get out now, while we can?"

"If we can," said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall, beyond which who knew what was happening.

"Well - we've got this far, I say we go on," Harry said. Dangerous or not, if they stopped now, Harry knew that Voldemort would get insuperable advantage.

"Good!" Griphook said and tapped his foot urgently. "Then come quickly."

When they scrambled into the cart, Griphook took a seat beside Bogrod by the helm and Harry, Ron and Hermione seized what was left of the little space in the back. With a small jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed - yet Harry could still hear shouting behind them coming from the main hall. If Travers decided to alarm the guards, any chance of their escape was doomed.

And that would mean the only thing – they would be trapped again.

_**R&R**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** I'm sorry for the delay, guys. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I had a good feeling when I finished it and that doesn't happen to me very often, so I really hope you'll like it too. :)

xxxxxx

**Gringotts, part II.**

xxxxxx

They were speeding down the dark tunnels, making sharp turns in a maze of passages, going still lower and lower. Their fully loaded cart was tilting dramatically in every winding and each of those sways was accompanied with menacing creaking. Harry, who found it upsetting since he (unlike his friends) had visited Gringotts before, leaned forward to discuss it with Griphook, yet before he could utter a word, the cart suddenly took a sharp turn left and rushed straight toward a roaring waterfall which appeared out of nowhere right in front of them.

"No!" Griphook screamed and pulled at the brakes, but to no avail. The cart was no longer under his control. Just a second later they flew into the stream and Harry felt a copious amount of water fill his mouth, eyes and ears. He couldn't breathe and didn't see anything; he only felt that their cart violently flipped over, sending them all airborne.

Before they could be crushed against the wall, Hermione screamed some incantation and Harry felt his momentum change instantly. Instead of a powerful impact, his body only lightly glided down to the bottom of the passage.

"C-Cushioning Charm," Hermione stuttered out as Ron helped her stand up. But to Harry's great dismay, she no longer looked like Bellatrix Lestrange. She was once again herself, only soaking wet and stumbling in her overly large robes. Even Ron's beard was gone and his wavy hair was once again short and flaming red.

"That was the Thief's Downfall!" Griphook croaked out and clambered to his feet as well.

"It washes away all enchantment and magical concealment," he added and turned his eyes away from the flood, which had been more than just water. "They have set off defences against us which means..."

His gaze fell at Harry and he froze - all remaining words died on his lips. His yellowish, deep-set eyes blinked rapidly as he took several unsteady steps back.

And Harry stared back at him, confused. Terror twisted the goblin's face into a grimace, but Harry didn't see any reason for it.

"What's wrong, Griphook?" Hermione asked, stealing the question from Harry's tongue.

The goblin wasn't able to find proper words at first. He merely pointed his shaking finger at Harry and his mouth moved helplessly.

"Must be him..." he finally wheezed out.

"It must be _him_!" he repeated, his small eyes bulging a little. "He's going to kill us!"

Driven by instincts, Harry looked around fast, but when he saw no threat, he glanced down at his own hands which were still unnaturally long and pale. Only now he noticed that for some inexplicable reason he remained in Voldemort's form. None of that, however, explained Griphook's inadequate reaction.

"Quit that nonsense!" Ron laughed it off nervously. "It's our Harry, of course! We're just lucky that he didn't change back yet."

"You _foolish_, narrow-minded wizard!"Griphook sputtered out, taking a few more steps away, his eyes roaming between Harry and Ron. "The Thief's Downfall removes _every_ magical concealment. _Every one!_ This person_ cannot be _Harry Potter!"

And without waiting for anyone or anything else, Griphook spun on his heels and galloped away much faster than Harry would have expected. Soon, only the dull sounds of his boots could be heard echoing down the long, dark passage.

"Griphook! Come back!" Harry screamed after him, raising his wand in an attempt to stop him, but the goblin was gone already.

"Damn!" Harry hissed, berating himself for hesitation. It would be a mistake to chase after him now, since the goblin knew these underground tunnels far better than all three of them together. Besides, they didn't have much time left; Harry could easily hear the distant voices approaching them from somewhere above.

"W-who are you? You - you are not Madam Lestrange!"

The new voice caught Harry's attention and he looked back at Bogrod who in the meantime shook off the effects of the Imperius Curse and now was watching Hermione distrustfully. "You've tried to deceive me! You - you are impostors! Alarm! ALARM!"

Harry responded without thinking.

"_Imperio!"_ he said and watched the goblin submit to his will once again.

Then he pressed his cold fingers to his sore temple, trying to quench his pulsing headache. He needed to stay focused and deal with this crisis the best he could.

"We need to keep going," he said quietly. "It's clear that they are after us now. We must..."

And Harry turned to his friends - and stiffened.

They were standing very still, watching him with fear and distrust over the tips of their wands, barely breathing.

"Where's Harry Potter?" Ron managed to ask tersely, though his voice trembled. "What have you done to him?-!"

"Ron!" Harry yelped out in disbelief. He made a step closer, but his friends retreated.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, then hid his wand quickly and raised his empty hands. He was marginally aware that the voices from above were becoming much louder by every moment. Obviously, if they didn't hurry they would be soon surrounded – and killed.

"For Merlin's sake, I am Harry Potter!" Harry implored, feeling how the gravity of this situation weighted heavily on him. "Just when do you think Voldem-," Harry quickly caught himself before he could make another deadly mistake, "..._he_ could possibly switch places with me, Ron?"

"P-Prove it!" Ron stuttered, still pointing the wand at him.

Harry groaned as if he were tortured. It must have been a scary sight, since Ron turned another shade paler.

"And how can I do it?-!" Harry howled, but Voldemort's cold, toneless voice concealed his desperation.

"Your Patronus," Hermione suddenly spoke up and stepped forward, regardless of Ron's attempt to stop her. "Let us see your stag … Harry."

It was actually a great idea and Harry didn't hesitate a second. He imagined his friends believing to him again, he imagined absolute trust in their faces before he raised the wand above his head and called.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

His silver stag erupted brightly in front of them and illuminated the dark corridor.

Harry watched it gallop away for a moment and then he looked back at Ron, who appeared to be on a brink of relief-induced faintness.

"Harry..." he whispered apologetically. "I'm sorry. I ... for a moment I really thought that you're You-Know-Who! But it's only because – I've never seen a goblin scared to death before. I must say it affected my judgement a bit."

"Yes, just a bit. So I've noticed," Harry said tiredly as his stag dissolved into a shining mist.

"But why didn't you change back, Harry?" Hermione asked as they joined his side.

"How can I answer that, when even you don't know the reason, Hermione? But look, I'll be happy to worry about it once we're safely outside, okay?"

"You're right. We must hurry and get to the vault first," she nodded.

"Well - I'm sorry I have to say that, but how are we going to do that without Griphook?" Ron asked nervously.

"We still have Bogrod. I'll try to order him to take us to the Lestrange's vault. He must know where it is," Harry said, pointing his wand at the goblin, who was still waiting idly beside them.

The whispered curse was once again followed by a sense of heady control that filled Harry's mind and flowed from his brain to the wand. Bogrod's expression turned momentarily blank, before he smiled obligingly, took the bag with Clankers from the ground and happily trotted away into the darkness with Harry, Ron and Hermione close behind him.

The corridor soon widened before them into a large dark cave where Harry finally saw the thing for which he had tried to prepare himself. And he was quite unsuccessful, if he wanted to be honest with himself.

It was a huge dragon, tethered by its rear legs to the rocky floor. Its scales were pale due to lack of daylight and its eyes were milky pink as if the creature was half-blind. It was attentive, though, since the moment they entered it opened it's huge chops and spat a jet of fire at them.

Only Harry's fast Shield Charm protected them from being burn to cinders on the spot.

"Merlin's beard! I didn't see that coming! Good reflexes, Harry!" Ron gasped.

Harry suppressed the urge to explain Ron that those very likely weren't _his_ reflexes and rather took one of the small metal instruments which Bogrod was meekly offering him.

The loud ringing noise it produced had a surprising effect on the dragon, who tried to move away into the most distant corner of the cave.

They sneaked around the creature as fast as they could and finally made it to the vault's entrance. Bogrod lay his hand on it's surface and it disappeared, revealing the various treasures inside.

"Search, fast!" Harry said as they hurried inside the vault. He had described Hufflepuff's cup to Ron and Hermione, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, he did not know what it looked like. He barely had time to glance around, however, before there was a muffled clunk from behind them. The door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault, and they were plunged into darkness.

Harry lit up his wand. "It's all right," he said. "Remember what Griphook said. Bogrod should be able to get us out of here anytime we want. Now let's just..."

He didn't finish what he wanted to say. He couldn't – his pulsing headache suddenly peaked beyond any tolerable limit and the vault around him disappeared.

He was standing now in a dimly lit room in a semicircle of wizards, watching Traver's shaking back.

"What did you say to me?" he whispered coldly, breathlessly. "Say it again!"

"M-My Lord! I swear it's true! I just met Y-Your Highness and Bellatrix in the bank. I-I found it a little strange and therefore I decided to return to the manor immediately a-and make sure t-that you really left."

"I would never leave this place without my Lord's permission!" Bellatrix cried out as she crawled over to him. "And certainly not with some f-fraud, My Lord!"

"That's impossible!" Voldemort cried out, terrible fear possessing him when he thought of all the possibilities, when he considered the danger for his dearest treasure which was hidden inside the bank... "No one would dare to steal my identity! You must have been confounded!"

"But still," his voice sank into a low, dangerous hiss, "I must be sure! I must verify that the vault is safe! Follow me!"

No, no one could possibly discover his secret, he thought as he strode quickly down the long halls. But maybe the bank wasn't as safe as he considered it. Maybe he should hide his Horcrux on some better, safer place. Yes, he must do it, he couldn't risk losing another precious piece of his soul like he did when he foolishly entrusted his diary to Lucius Malfoy. No, he had to make all the necessary arrangements to protect the cup, but first he needed to have it safely back in his hands...

Harry's eyes snapped open and his body instinctively tried to curl in pain, but he couldn't move. He could only bite into his sore lower lip, breaking it open and tasting his blood again. He had no idea what happened to him but he could feel at least a dozen severe burns all over his face and hands.

"Harry! Harry, can you hear me?-!"

He managed to turn his head after Hermione's voice and nodded a little. She released the breath she was holding and quickly spoke.

"Harry, listen, everything here is scorching hot and it also replicates when you touch it! It was nearly impossible to remove it from you when you fell into it. You were also thrashing around, making it much worse – I - I had to use a Partial Body-Bind curse on you."

She removed the spell and Harry slowly sat up.

"It's all right," Harry said and shook his head. "I just couldn't stop it this time. Travers informed him about us and he's terrified. He's coming here for the _cup_! We may have only minutes."

His friends looked at each other and than back at him, aghast.

"I-I'm afraid that we don't have minutes, Harry," Ron finally whispered and in that moment Harry realized that the loud clanking noise didn't reside inside his skull, but it was actually coming from the other side of the vault. "However, we found the cup - it's over there," he added quietly and pointed his finger at one of the shelves close to the ceiling. "Unfortunately, it cannot be summoned by magic."

"I'll get it," Harry said resolutely, rose to his feet and quickly located the cursed object. "You wait by the door."

He made a few steps towards the shelf where it was deposited, but his long, wet robes, which now unpleasantly clung to his chilled body, caught on a couple of golden goblets standing dangerously close to the edge of a table. They tumbled down and instantly multiplied.

Harry cursed loudly. He was just fed up with that. He flicked his wand and tore off the hanging black fabric right above his knees. And then he began to climb up the shelves. Regardless of how hard he tried, it was impossible not to touch anything. A countless replicas were bursting from beneath his fingers, burning his skin painfully, yet Harry coped with it since it was seemingly Voldemort's body which was getting hurt. The swelling treasure was, however, catching up with him, threatening to envelope him completely. But he was also getting closer and closer to the target.

Finally finding a proper use of his unusual height, Harry leaned as far as he could, catching the elaborate handle of the cup in between his fingers. It was scorching hot as everything else and replicating just as much but Harry held it tight. Only … the shelves didn't seem to be able to carry the weight of the treasure for much longer, and if some of them broke apart, Harry would very likely fell off and lose the Horcrux. He couldn't risk that.

"RON!" He screamed in his high-pitched voice and his friend who was standing waist-deep in the gold looked up.

"CATCH!" And with that he threw the Horcrux in Ron's direction. As the previous Keeper for the Gryffindor's Quiddich team, Ron didn't disappoint him. He caught the cup and didn't drop it. He quickly hid it under his jacket as it burned his fingers, then turned and screamed something at Hermione.

Harry didn't understand his words over the loud clatter of the falling replicas. The shelf he stood on still fortunately remained in one piece, so he tried to climb further up to the ceiling. Yet, the massive treasure finally caught up with him and now it was compressing his scrawny body with its immense weight and all Harry could think in that moment was that he luckily won't die by Voldemort's hand and neither by cold as he feared just few moments ago.

And then the wall of gold began to move like a sand and Harry was sliding with it out of the vault.

Once outside, he threw off the burning coins and heavily got up to his feet. As he rushed over to his friends, he tried to avoid the flashes of light coming to them from nearly every direction.

"_Stupefy!"_ he bellowed, and Ron and Hermione joined in: Jets of raw magic flew into the crowd of goblins, and some toppled over, but others advanced. What was worse, Harry saw more wizard guards running around the corner.

They hesitated when they saw him and Harry used that to his advantage, sending a couple of them to the ground.

"They are impostors!" some of the goblins screamed – and his voice sounded suspiciously like Griphook's. "The true Dark Lord is coming! Stop them! Stop them no matter what!"

The tethered dragon was greatly distressed by the flashing lights - it let out a roar and spat another gush of flame over the goblins. The wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had come and momentarily cleared the way. Then sudden inspiration, or madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor, he yelled: _"Relashio!"_

The cuffs fell apart with loud bangs.

"This way!" Harry screamed, still shooting spell after spell at the advancing goblins as he sprinted toward the half-blind dragon.

"Harry – what are you doing?" Hermione cried somewhere behind him.

"Come on – climb up – quickly!"

"If they escape we're all dead!" Griphook screamed again and that seemed to motivate the hiding wizards for some action.

Before Harry could have climbed on the dragon's back after his friends, the whole area was once again under a fire of violent curses. The dragon, stressed beyond any measure, opened its chops again and a massive burst of flames cleared its escape path to the surface. It began to climb quickly, leaving Harry alone behind a large pile of debris.

"HARRY!" Ron and Hermione screamed and tried to slide back over him, but the dragon was moving up fast and they nearly fell off of it's back.

Harry was left with no choice. He ran out of his hideout, stunned several wizards on the way and started his chase behind the fleeing dragon.

He jumped from a rock to a crevice, and from the crevice to another protrusion, trying not to think much about the fact that he was actually surmounting distances which were far beyond human limits. His body felt strangely light - a little lighter and he could swear that he would be floating - and his eyes were fixated to the dragons massive tail which was still dangling a couple of feet from his reach.

"Harry!" Ron yelled again as he carefully began to climb down the dragon's tail, regardless of the risks he was taking. He was holding on to the steely scales, but his feet were sliding on their slippery surface.

And they were approaching the surface fast– Harry knew that they couldn't be far from it now.

Then the dragon stopped for a second and Harry used that one last opportunity – he jumped and caught the large scales on the very tip of the dragon's tail.

The creature roared and with one mighty push it forced its way outside – to the freedom.

The rubble was falling everywhere – Harry heard Hermione scream – and then Ron was screeching something indecipherable. Harry saw them for a second over the dust in his eyes, Hermione hanging in the air and Ron was barely holding her by her hand, calling her name desperately.

And then the dragon swayed its tail violently and Harry hit the wall.

Something cracked loudly in his back and a sharp pain let Harry know that something was broken.

The air was knocked out of his lungs and he couldn't suck it back. His fingers grew numb and the wand slipped from his teeth, where he held it for the last few meters. His mind covered a dense mist and only a very small part of him was aware that he was sliding down, falling and falling...

Something alive moved inside him – it pulsed like a second heart and trembled like a small child.

It made him open his eyes and whisper.

"_Aresto Momentum." _

He was falling fast and the air was roaring in his ears, but then it stopped and he fell at the ground. It didn't hurt much, so the spell probably worked even without his wand. Harry scrambled to his feet, uncomprehending where was the source of the energy, which was making him do that. He only knew that if he remained lying there, he would be crushed within seconds by falling rocks. There was nowhere to hide – Harry threw himself to the wall, searching for some escape route from the boulders which were shattering all around him.

And there it was – a small opening, just a couple of inches wide and Harry crawled to it without thinking and then he was sliding through it like a snake – his body was long, scaly and black...

Harry lost it.

He forcefully suppressed whatever it was that controlled his mind – and his loud hiss turned into a scream. He instantly changed back into Voldemort's form and realized that one of his ankles remained caught in the aperture. He jerked his leg hard to release it and he eventually succeeded at a price of losing his shoe.

It was too dark around him even for his enhanced eyes and the rumble of falling stones was also slowly damping out. Yet, he could hear new voices; they were many of them and they were all quite close to him, but Harry couldn't focus on that.

He was hyperventilating, even though his chest hurt with every breath he took.

He simply couldn't understand what just happened.

Did he really fly after the dragon only to fall back down and then sneaked through the tiny hole in a form of a snake to escape a certain death? And all of the without a wand?

"I'm not a fucking Animagus!" Harry snarled. "I don't know how to change into an animal! So how could I just do that?-!"

A violent explosion chased away all Harry's fleeting thoughts. A fresh air and some light entered the cavern and to Harry's horror, he realized that he was back in the dragon's lair – at the entrance to the Lestange's vault, which was mere twenty feet across from him. But, as he made a quick logical deduction, he couldn't have possibly fallen somewhere else so … he had to hide. Quickly.

As he squeezed himself into one of the cracks, he spared a brief thought on Ron and Hermione. Hopefully, they made it without getting hurt and they will destroy the Horcrux as soon as possible. Even his capture would be worth it.

Then someone entered the cavern and looked around.

Instantly, Harry wanted to melt away.

No way.

No fucking way.

Not yet please.

But it was him, it was Voldemort, followed by a nervous crowd of goblins and wizards.

Voldemort lit up his wand - it's piercing light created a sharp shadows on his inhuman face.

Harry pressed himself to the wall, not daring to breathe as the Dark Lord sniffed the air. He didn't see him thanks to Harry's black robes which made him disappear in the shadows. He couldn't smell him either as one cannot smell his own scent. So as long as he won't hear him … Harry had a small chance to live till the evening.

"M-my Lord, maybe we should chase the dragon first...," one of the Death Eaters – he looked like Mulciber to Harry, said in a humble, hoarse voice.

"I gave Bellatrix and others exact instructions, Mulciber. They must catch them, but not kill them yet, especially if Potter's with them. And now be quiet – I'm sure I've heard someone here..."

His voice was cold and dangerous, but Harry could detect fierce uneasiness in each of his words.

"T-that is possible, my L-Lord," said one of the goblins. "There were many people left when the ceiling had fallen..."

Voldemort didn't pay him attention. He surveyed the room quickly, while Harry still clung to the wall in the small crevice, feeling how his fingers quickly grew numb due to cold.

Finally the Dark Lord spoke.

"Open the vault!"

A sturdy, dark haired man in whom Harry recognized Rudolphus Lestrange rushed forward, briefly knelt by Voldemort's side and then he and three goblins stepped closer to the vault's door which was once again sealed.

Harry could feel Voldemort's building fear, which threatened to take over him again. Harry refused to give in to that this time. He bit into his fist, resisting the waves of terror which were washing over him when the vault was opened and everyone could see the utter mess inside.

The replicas were gone though and a few more goblins hurried inside, making a quick inventory.

"Is something missing?" Voldemort whispered breathlessly. "Tell me – is something missing?-!"

Harry knew what the answer will be and he dreaded the consequences – not for Voldemort, of course, but for everyone else – including him.

Because he couldn't hold on to that wall for much longer...

The tense minutes passed quickly and then the goblins returned from the vault with Rodolphus, who apparently did not want to be a messenger of bad news, since he quickly returned to his place far behind Voldemort.

"So?" the tall, emaciated figure hissed icily. "What did they take?" he asked in a voice no one would dare to disobey. "Tell me!"

Harry gritted his teeth not to yelp out when Riddle nearly lost his struggle with a panic attack once he saw the goblins' hesitant, fearful faces.

"Only a ... a s-small golden c-cup m-my Lord...," one of the goblins stuttered out.

Harry felt like crashing into the stone wall again.

The scream of rage and denial shook the whole huge cavern. Harry's teeth tore into his flesh as an immense, overwhelming pain nearly ripped his head apart. Voldemort was crazed, frenzied and Harry didn't know how to face those emotions – they were washing him away, removing his resolution to stay silent, but he still held to it by remnants of his steely will.

He could hear how Voldemort screamed the worst curses, he could hear the bodies falling to the ground heavily as the Elder Wand slashed through the air, yet he couldn't move an inch to stop it – he couldn't do anything. If he tried, if he moved just an inch, he would break apart and lose his sanity as well...

The people were racing back to the carts, desperate to escape, to save their lives, while the slower ones were left to be slayed one after one until nothing – nothing could be heard.

But Harry was living the turmoil of Voldemort's thoughts. He was experiencing the horror, disbelief and rage that his deepest secrets were discovered and that his life, his most precious existence was threatened. He was inside his body now, pacing the room filled with dead bodies, thinking of each of his safety anchors to immortality. And as he did so, calm very slowly began to return to him.

The boy couldn't possibly discover anything about the ring – he had hidden his connection to the Gaunts, the killings had never been traced to him. The ring had to be safe. And the idea of Potter overcoming protections he placed around his locket was ridiculous.

As for the school, it was probably the safest place of all – only he alone knew where he hid the Horcrux, no one else could possibly find it...

And concerning Nagini, he has to keep her close now; he can no longer sent her to any missions – he must ensure her safety...

The thoughts continue to flow like a river, yet it was physical discomfort which returned Harry back to his body. He could no longer feel his fingertips, which were hopefully still pressed into the little cracks in the wall. The worse thing was that he had no strength left and he couldn't breathe properly. It was only a matter of a very short moment before he'll fall out of his hiding place right before furious Dark Lord.

Go away, go away, go away...

Harry repeated it over and over in his head like a mantra, but Voldemort still hesitated, still plotted something, until finally, _finally_ he turned away and strode out from the cavern towards the spare, empty carts. A second later Harry heard one of them rattle away.

Harry slid down from the slippery crevice since he couldn't hold himself there for another second. He closed his eyes for and tried to take in a deep breath. He couldn't; he felt revulsion at the sight of numerous dead bodies all around him and also the pain in his back was mind-numbing. But he also couldn't succumb to any of that; he had to keep thinking, he had to get out of this place too.

Heavily, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled around the corner, hoping that one of the carts was still there.

It was, but Harry could only wish for the opposite.

"I knew that someone was hiding...," an icy cold voice began and died away instantly.

For a second, Harry wished that he would cease to exist in the same simple, unobtrusive way. Voldemort, very likely, yearned for the very same thing.

But right now he was shocked to deaf silence.

If anything, Harry wasn't surprised. He raised his head and met the equally blazing stare. That was, however, where the most of their similarities ended. Voldemort's skin was pure white and unblemished, his robes were dark and rich and his posture was mighty and commanding.

Harry, on the other hand, was dirty, covered by burns, beaten, his shoulders were hunched as it helped him to breathe, and his clothes were currently nothing more than a piece of a rag.

Seeing 'himself' in that state was apparently something Voldemort couldn't mentally process.

It took him a good minute or so to do as much as blink his eyes.

After that horrible pause, when Harry was subdued to that disbelieving stare, Voldemort finally asked in his icy voice.

"Who are you?"

It was a silly question, at least from Harry's point of view. It only illustrated Voldemort's deep conviction of his absolute inimitability.

"Your conscience?" Harry answered tiredly, a mock of innocence resounding in his voice.

Funnily, Voldemort didn't respond right away and it seemed that he was actually considering that.

If Harry was in a better shape, he would probably play this game a little longer, but right now he couldn't find an energy to keep fighting. He was just too exhausted.

"Honestly," he added when Voldemort didn't speak, "Who do you think I am, Riddle?"

The thin colourless lips twitched a little and the gleaming eyes narrowed.

"Potter," the dark wizard whispered in a voice he would use to spit a curse. "It's you, isn't it? Who else would _dare_ to think about … to even consider..."

Voldemort's voice faltered due to his building rage, but his wand was faultless. It flew up, pointing directly at Harry's chest. Harry glanced down at his empty hands from habit. There wasn't much he could do. But from the good side, he will see his parents soon. And Sirius. And Dumbledore – yeah, he definitely wanted to talk to him about a couple of things.

"_Accio cup!"_ the Dark Lord said instead of a direct killing curse and he looked greatly disappointed when nothing flew towards him a moment later.

"What have you done to it!" Voldemort hissed furiously. "Where is it?-!"

Harry knew that it would be very stupid of him to play dumb right now. For some reason, Voldemort still didn't kill him or tortured him yet and he was certainly glad for that. Every second was like a bonus, but it couldn't last forever.

"Even if I knew," Harry replied coldly, "I wouldn't have told you."

The pale fingers tightened its hold on the wand, but no curse left it yet.

Harry looked up straight into his face and thought it appeared to be blank at the first sight, he noticed a hidden struggle beneath its surface. It made Harry wonder what was holding Voldemort back – he was after all wandless and utterly helpless.

"I can figure it out even without you, Potter," he finally spoke in an icy, haughty tone. "It was one of your little friends, right? They took it, didn't they? No matter, once Bellatrix deals with them, she'll bring it back to me... But for now...," he stepped forward, still pointing his wand at Harry. "What shall I do with you, Potter?"

Harry was sure now that something was off with him. Voldemort wouldn't have asked like that – he would have simply killed him, if he didn't torture him first. Also, the dark wizard appeared to be tremendously bothered by something; he seemed to be torn by indecision.

It was probably due to Harry's complete exhaustion that it was only then he finally realized Voldemort's huge problem. Harry glanced once again at his own long, spidery fingers, slowly he touched his burned face and then, regardless the pain in his chest, he laughed out aloud.

"Here I thought that you always wanted to kill me, Riddle," Harry said with a large grin, which had to look pretty menacing on Voldemort's face. "So, why do you hesitate?"

Harry spread his arms wide. "You have an incredible chance to do it right now!"

Voldemort was growing more and more angry and frustrated before Harry's eyes. The Elder Wand shook slightly in his hand, his eyes were livid and his whole body was taut, but he still didn't say the curse.

Harry let his hands drop and his forced smile disappeared just as fast.

"Give it up," he said blandly. "You know you can't do it. There's nothing you fear more that the sight of your own corpse. You can't kill me and you'd better admit it to yourself."

The Dark Lord's hand dropped a little – but only a little.

"I can't kill you," he confirmed Harry's surmise softly, but then his white lips curled into a ferocious grin.

"_Now,"_ he added menacingly and before Harry knew, he was hit straight into the chest by a powerful Stunner.

_**R&R**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **A shorter chapter, but I don't want to keep you waiting. :) If you have time, please review. To all of you who did already – thank you!

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**Nightmares and Wonders**

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In his stupefied slumber, Harry found himself standing at the edge of a vast, black, underground lake. His distraught, unfocused mind was wandering between his overwhelming fright, rage and also a small, golden box which he held in his numb, cold hand. Harry gazed at it transfixed, his eyes not leaving it even as it slipped from his clutch and dropped onto one of the dark, greasy stones.

He didn't bother to retrieve it.

It was empty after all; only an imprint of a ring remained in its soft padding. The jewel containing a piece of his precious soul was gone. A new thrill of panic washed through him and he shivered violently. How could that possibly happen? How could he be exposed and attacked while having no suspicion of that?

Harry slowly raised his head and looked at a small island in the distance. His feverish thoughts turned to his locket and all his hopes centred upon its image; he refused to acknowledge any possibility that something could have happened to it as well...

His vision was zooming in and out like a badly tuned radio. He was only marginally aware that he was sailing over the lake and that there was a huge snake coiling at his feet. Then, after a brief dark period filled with nothing but incoherent flashes of light, he found himself leaning over the stone basin, gazing into its depths and his heart faltered... The potion inside lost its greenish hue and the locket, which should rest in it for eternity, was nowhere in the sight.

A moment of utter disbelief was replaced by fury which exploded in Harry with a power of a bomb – it was brutal and devastating and yet it died away just as quickly, morphing into boundless terror which dawned on him heavily. He sank to his knees and his forehead dropped onto the stone pillar in exasperation... He fought to resist that shameful weakness, he fought to understand – he had no idea how the boy managed to do it, how he could steal the locket, how he could even find it when no-one has ever known where it was hidden, except of him...

But he will have the answers soon... He will get the information by any means necessary once he returned to the Manor. And as he got up, cold purpose was filling his mind...

Harry slipped back into the void for a while, until a deep, familiar voice addressed him.

"Master."

A man with sallow skin, a large, hooked nose, and greasy black hair bowed to him and joined him quietly.

"I shall meet you in your office later, Severus," Harry informed him coldly a moment later. "Leave me now."

Snape bowed again and set off up the stairs, his black cloak billowing behind him. Harry waited for the man's figure to disappear and then he looked over the outline of his beloved castle illuminated by the last rays of the evening sun. The sight didn't please him as usual – he was too upset to take any joy from it ...

The corridors were dark, empty and quiet – which suited his purpose perfectly. He made it to his secret room undisturbed and now he was walking through the alleyways of tremendous junk, searching for the last of his treasures... But something suddenly caught his attention and he quickly turned back to inspect it. It was the famous Vanishing Cabinet standing there forgotten under layers of dust. Harry slowly raised his skeletal hand and lightly touched its dingy exterior. A thin layer of dirt smudged his white fingers.

He never questioned Draco about where he hid the cabinet from Dumbledore's all-seeing eyes. It never occurred to him, that the practically useless boy could possibly find the same hiding place as he did those many years ago. A feeling of unease began to build in the pit of his stomach. If Draco managed to find it, then why not Potter, since the boy was apparently a way more cunning than he had ever considered him.

He turned away from the cabinet, scanning the room fast as he kept walking further inside the room. And finally there it was; a three-legged mahogany tea table standing next to an old, tarnished cupboard. Harry's eyes swept over its surface, searching for his precious tiara...

Only it wasn't there.

Harry practically doubled over.

A scream of agony was just building inside his throat as he looked around in wild panic - and then his eyes caught something glittering on one of the cupboard's shelves...

"No," Harry muttered and he shook his head; he recognized the object, he held it in his hands before – but it was him, Harry Potter, who had placed it on the ugly bust together with a dusty wig to mark the hiding place of Snape's old textbook. Realization shattered his dream and his mind began to separate from Voldemort's just as a tidal wave of relief rose inside his chest. Harry wanted to laugh in joy as much as to scream in denial.

The images began to mingle with his own thoughts – but Harry refused to be separated from him now, he needed know where Voldemort was going to hide the tiara and what kind of protection he wanted to provide it...

Yet it was too late, he was slipping out of his mind and soon his own senses took over...

The return to reality was equally chilling.

Harry jumped from the hard plank-bed where he was lying, ignoring the sharp, unpleasant stab of pain in his back. He began to pace the small, dark room in furious circles. The only door he found was locked and he kicked it in anger. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find his friends and tell them that he finally knew what the last Horcrux was and where it was hidden. Hogwarts! He suspected it all the time! Approaching the single tiny window, Harry tried to open it, he tried to break it apart but to no avail. Finally, after many fruitless attempts, it began to sink to his mind that there was hardly a chance to escape from this confinement without a wand or someone's help.

Frustrated, Harry sat back on the bed, trying to suppress his unmanageable shivers. There weren't many things which could spoil his mood even more than it already was, but the sight of his spidery fingers, which supported his bald head fell exactly into that category. Everything went downhill ever since he touched that dreadful Polyjuice Potion. If only he hadn't drunk it! Now he was stuck in this nightmarish form and worse - Voldemort managed to seize the last Horcrux before he could reach it.

And as a bonus, he was going to die horribly - he quickly glanced down at skinny legs and arms and sighed - the moment he reverts to his true form.

Harry got up and came over to the window again, looking down to a nicely maintained garden. It was already dark outside, yet Harry had no problem to recognize the nicely cut hedges and majestic pure-white peacocks promenading over the long lawns.

His thin lips curled in distaste.

"Malfoy Manor," he whispered for himself. "What a surprise."

Actually, the only thing he didn't quite understand was why they didn't lock him in the cellar like the last time. They probably feared that he would somehow manage to miraculously escape again.

And then his thoughts were disturbed by a slight noise coming from the other side of the massive stony wall. Using his extra hearing, Harry soon distinguished two male voices. Intrigued, he crept closer to the wooden door and lay his ear on its surface, listening intently.

"Dumbedore trusted you with many of his secrets, didn't he, Severus?" a chilly tone, which could only belong to Lord Voldemort, asked dryly.

Harry gulped idly. If Voldemort was back already, than he must have taken the Horcrux along – or he left it in Hogwarts...

"Quite a few, my Lord."

Hearing the deep vibrations of Snape's voice, Harry instantly felt a surge of fierce anger, which was only stifled by the fact that he was momentarily very angry at Dumbledore. The man he trusted the most purposefully let him grope in the dark, didn't really bother to explain him anything, even though his life came as a price if he made some mistake...

And he made a couple of those already.

"Then tell me, had he ever mentioned to you or did you ever see in his office a golden locket – or a ring with a massive black stone?"

There was a momentary silence in which Harry held his breath.

"I'm not aware of that, Master," Snape replied slowly.

Harry, completely taken aback, took a hesitant step away from the door. And then another one.

He couldn't believe his ears. Snape just deliberately lied to Voldemort! There was no other explanation which would make any sense to him, because Harry knew that Snape was the one who treated Dumbledore's injured hand. And when he was healing him, Snape surely inquired what caused that wound and though Harry was sure that Dumbledore didn't tell him anything about the Horcrux, he had no reason to lie about the ring. Also, Harry actually saw Dumbledore _wearing_ that ring on one occasion and something like that would hardly go unnoticed by Snape...

But why would Snape try to deceive the Dark Lord when he was so loyal to him?

"It doesn't matter," Voldemort said discontentedly, his voice breaking into Harry's thoughts again. It was sour and also a lot clearer as he probably approached the door behind which Harry was imprisoned. "The lack of Veritaserum in your private stores, however, disappointed me greatly. I need to question Potter and I am sure that he will be too stubborn to be broken by the Cruciatus Curse. This could take hours or even days, which is unacceptable."

"I apologize again, my Lord," Snape hurried with the answer. "I informed Carrows that they weren't allowed to waste my private stocks of potions, especially not on the students. Nevertheless, it is obvious that questioning and punishing kids for some inconsequential misbehaviour is their priority. I'm trying to resupply my stores as fast as I can, but quite unfortunately the newest brew of Veritaserum which I prepared at the end of the last month still needs at least another week to reach a sufficient potency. "

Voldemort hissed something under his breath what Harry didn't quite catch and then he whispered more loudly.

"Carrows need to be reminded that they answer directly to you when it comes to the school's policy."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Then the lock on the door clicked and Harry raised his head and straightened his back as much as he he could without flinching. No matter how the thought of upcoming torture scared him, Harry refused to appear intimidated by Voldemort.

And then, finally, a tall, skinny, black-clad person entered Harry's dark cell and his blazing red eyes turned upon him.

"Potter," he began coldly. "I believe that now I can finally..."

At that moment Voldemort's sensory percepts caught up with the flow of his thoughts and interrupted that process completely.

And Harry watched him back, easily deciphering every single emotion which appeared on the Dark Lord's stiff, inhuman face.

Shock was among those which ruled all along.

"You don't like what you see, Riddle?" Harry asked coolly, trying to break the silence which became so dense that a little longer and it would start to crystallize out of thin air.

A dangerously low hissing sound reminding Harry of an agitated viper escaped the other man's white lips and progressively grew louder and louder. Harry, being a Parselmouth himself, was briefly taken aback by his inability to understand him. He couldn't really pinpoint why.

It was just a moment later when the angry hiss forced through the bared, sharp teeth finally formed a comprehensible word.

"...sssssssssSSSSSSnape!"

"Yes, my Lord?"

Severus Snape instantly appeared behind the Dark Lord's back and lit up his wand. Then he came to stand by Voldemort's side, staring at Harry with an expression of someone who just saw the ultimate mistake of nature.

"Explain!" Riddle snarled then, pointing his wand at Harry.

"Master?" Snape's black eyes were unreadable. Whatever surprise he might have felt at seeing two Voldemorts in one room, he covered it perfectly.

"Potter drank the Polyjuice Potion more than nine hours ago. How is it possible that he hasn't changed back yet?-!"

Harry shifted his eyes from Voldemort to the endless black orbs, which reflected no light and no emotion.

"That is … not possible," Snape finally admitted. "To my best knowledge, one dose of the most potent Polyjuice Potion ever prepared allowed a physical change which lasted for two hours and twenty-four minutes."

"So?"

The iciness of Voldemort's tone dropped to subarctic temperatures.

"He could be some … highly skilled Metamorphmagus," Snape mused aloud and began to stroke his upper lip with his forefinger.

"Metamorphmagus, who would have _this_ in his pocket?" Voldemort sneered and pulled out Harry's glasses from his robes, giving them over to an examination.

Recognition flashed in the coal-black eyes, but soon it was replaced by that blank stare again.

"I admit this is highly suspicious, my Lord," Snape said expressionlessly.

"Besides, I know he is Potter. I can read his mind," Voldemort said curtly as he advanced towards Harry.

"I wish I could confirm this to you, my Lord. I must say I experience certain difficulties when I attempt to read his thoughts … while he is in this form...," Snape said, but Harry didn't believe him. He knew for sure that Snape had recognized him and that only made him more confused. He had no idea what kind of game Snape was playing, why and for whom, if not for his own amusement.

Voldemort meanwhile circled Harry once and stopped beside him – a way too close for any comfort – and now he watched him so intently that Harry could swear that his left cheek, which was currently exposed to that poignant stare, was melting away. Harry didn't dare to return the stare; he rather gazed ahead at Snape who seemed to be contemplating them both with his lifeless eyes.

The moment prolonged on and on and after a while Harry began to wonder if this was some sort of a staring contest which he would lose by speaking first. He decided to keep his mouth shut.

The heat, which scorched Harry's face, slowly moved down to his neck and then to his chest where it pooled for a moment.

"He is not a Metamorphmagus, Severus." Voldemort's soft, almost velvety voice finally broke the tension and allowed Harry to release the breath he was holding for the past minute or two.

"He is too … _perfect_. A perfect copy of mine. No wizard would be able to mimic everything so precisely."

Snape didn't say anything.

"Which, however, doesn't really explain our little mystery here, does it? Never mind, I'll make Potter answer my questions one way or the other. That will be all for now, Severus."

Snape bowed his head and as he straightened up, his eyes met Harry's. However, before Harry could read anything within their depths, the man turned away swiftly and strode out of the room.

And Harry watched him leave with a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. For some very silly and inexplicable reason, he felt a lot safer when Snape was there.

The following seconds passed at an agonizingly slow pace. Harry tried to breathe regularly, but it was impossible. Thinking of all the possible torture scenarios awaiting him, his breathing came out in fast, uncontrollable stutters. Faint patina of perspiration formed on delicate skin of his forehead and slightly sunken temples.

Still, terrified or not, he was freezing inside...

"So, Potter," Voldemort finally broke the silence by a quiet, clear whisper, "you've obviously upgraded your standard defensive strategy. No longer using more powerful wizards and witches as your shield, I see. Instead, you think that my looks will provide you better protection, right? But let me tell you something, brat...," the dark wizard leaned closer, his lips mere inches from Harry's ear. "You - are - entirely wrong..."

Harry broke his fixed gaze at the opened door to look into those intense gleaming red eyes.

Without blinking or moving a single facial muscle, he said.

"It's you who is sadly mistaken, Riddle, if you think that I did it to protect myself."

Voldemort's thin lips twitched. He moved around Harry to face him directly and conjured a bright ball of light which flew high above their heads, illuminating the room. Then he pointed the Elder Wand at Harry's chin.

"You've never learned your place, Potter, have you? Out of all those countless offences against Lord Voldemort, which you've had the audacity to commit, this one is the worst … which of course doesn't mean that I've forgotten what you had done the last time we met..."

The Elder Wand slid over Harry's chest down to his belly and then his groin.

Harry's tightly clenched lips escaped a quiet whimper.

He didn't want to be reminded this part of his anatomy, especially since it wasn't entirely his own at the moment. But as the wand's pointy tip prodded his soft flesh painfully, Harry barely held back a yelp.

"How amusing," Voldemort smirked and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "According to your expression, one would have thought that you find the possibility of losing your manhood considerably more distressing than losing your life."

Harry couldn't simply deny that some part of that statement was true. But he also wasn't the one to take abuse without any fight.

"Is that what happened to your nose?" he snapped back, his anger helping him to cope with his fear. "Did you cut it off as well? Maybe self-mutilation is what really gets you off..."

The Elder Wand slashed through the air and Harry was lifted off his feet. It had to be the Cruciatus Curse but Harry didn't really feel any pain – at least until his back collided with the stone wall.

In that moment Harry's jaw dropped in brutal shock.

Something has pierced his left lung. A coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and he spat it out reflexively. So that was how it felt to be stabbed to death. The burning pain was monstrous but the fact that he couldn't breathe was much worse. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't suck in anything, not even a single little gulp of air.

He was convulsing on the floor, coughing desperately, panicking at the sight of fresh, brightly red blood covering his pale, curled fingers.

He could feel his rapid heartbeat in his temples; his heart was still working hard, desperately trying to keep him alive. But his vision already began to narrow into a long, dark tunnel and his madly writhing body was becoming deadly still. It was almost over...

Comforting darkness enveloped his senses, but quite strangely he felt as if he was breathing again.

Indeed, he could even hear that slightly raspy sound of the air rushing in and out of his mouth. And his chest still hurt, but not so badly anymore. It was really strange - if he was dead, he shouldn't be able to feel any pain … right?

Harry opened his eyes and found himself staring into a pale, snake-like, _livid _face.

His slightly clouded mind failed to comprehend immediately why Voldemort looked like someone who just withstood the ultimate torture.

The dark wizard was kneeling by his side, visibly shaking, but he got up quickly, took a few staggering steps backward – and then screamed like someone who just lost last remains of sanity.

The window-shattering screech was accompanied by a blast of magic which cracked the walls and shook the floor. Gradually it changed into a long, anguished howl and the man slowly scratched his face all the way down to his neck, his long claws leaving angry red marks in his snow-white skin.

It was the moment when Harry came to full understanding of what just happened.

Voldemort saved his life.

Not that he wanted to – he _had to_ do it. He simply couldn't stand watching himself dying in that horrible way... Still, _the impossible_ just happened and Harry patiently waited for the end of the world to come – and he waited in vain for several long minutes. He was still there and so was Voldemort – and both of them were completely undone by the recent turn of the events.

"I … huh … I ... err...," Harry muttered as he sat up. His dry mouth still refused to co-operate with his greatly disturbed mind. But there was one word on his tongue which needed to be spit out before it could cripple him mentally for good.

"Th..."

He coughed experimentally, rubbed his chest and gave it another try.

"Thanks."

That was Voldemort's breaking point. Apparently, even a raging psychopath had one. The dark wizard let out another furious wail, then he backed out of Harry's cell and slammed the door shut.

And Harry spent several next hours staring at it in wonder.

_**R&R**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Happy New Year! **Sorry for the wait, guys, I was really sick before Christmas and buying last-minute gifts was really exhausting... But I'm back with another chapter. Twelve pages – yay!

xxxxx

**Improper encounters**

xxxxx**  
**

Harry didn't sleep at all that night. He was too upset and cold to even consider getting some rest. Moreover, he expected Voldemort to return soon and continue with his original plan of torturing him, which could hardly put his mind at ease.

When the Dark Lord made no appearance in an hour or so, Harry ceased his neurotic pace along the walls of his cell, which were exactly fourteen and a half feet long and nine feet wide, and came over to the narrow window, looking out at the murky early morning sky. It was still too dark to see his own reflection in the glass, but he knew whose face he would see anyway.

He lacked words to express his frustration. He wished he had at least the slightest idea of what could possibly go wrong with the Polyjuice Potion. Hermione surely prepared it correctly but even if the unthinkable happened and she made some mistake, Harry was convinced that the Thief's Downfall would have failed to transform her back too. Yet, it was just him who stayed like this, so the problem couldn't be in the potion. No, it was in him as usual. This had to be another one of his oddities like the mental link he shared with Voldemort or the connection between their old wands.

Still, no matter how traumatizing his unchanging appearance was, he had more important and urgent things to worry about. Because unless he was really badly hallucinating, he could swear that he briefly changed into a snake back in Gringotts Bank. And something like that was far beyond any potion's power. And he couldn't blame it on some unintentional, stress-induced magic (as his friends would probably do) since he didn't have a wand back there. And he wasn't an Animagus for sure. It took many long months or even years to obtain such skills and Harry didn't even start learning the basics yet.

It just didn't make any sense.

Except … if he had to hypothesize on one of his long-time suspicions … he knew that Voldemort could fly – and that was exactly what he was doing when he pursued that dragon; or it was as close to flying as anything else. And if Voldemort was an Animagus, Harry didn't doubt that his animal form would be a snake...

All in all he acted like a possessed person, only he perfectly remembered everything. Moreover, the last time Voldemort actually possessed him, they both experienced a pain beyond any measure. Harry doubted Voldemort would ever try to do it again...

So if he wasn't truly possessed, what was happening to him? What could explain that strange, throbbing sensation he felt in his temples sometimes?

Harry skimmed his fingers over his forehead, feeling for his scar. The smooth, cool skin was marred by recent injuries, yet there was no sign of that old mark. Harry didn't feel relieved; his invasions into the Dark Lord's mind didn't lose its frequency or intensity – quite the opposite, actually.

Based on Dumbledore's assumptions, he considered the scar the sole reason for his access to Voldemort's thoughts. Now that he didn't have it, he may no longer suffer in Voldemort's presence and yet every other aspect of their connection remained unchanged.

Harry stumbled over to the bed and sat down on it slowly.

He could speculate further, he could play with this Pandora's box, he could possibly open it and reveal all the dark and disturbing secrets he was forbidden to know.

But deep inside he didn't want to pursue it any further. After all, he shouldn't be having these thoughts; he made a decision at Dobby's grave that he will stay true to his task and avoid similar distractions...

But maybe Dumbledore wanted him to figure it out...

No, the Headmaster would have told him if there was the slightest, purely hypothetical chance that he could be one of...

He would have told him...

He would.

_Probably._

Harry leaned back against the wall and took an unsteady breath.

He needed his friends more than ever. He missed their warm presence, he missed Hermione's eagerness to find the answers in her beloved books and he missed Ron, who would do anything to cheer him up. Everything would be so much more bearable than this.

At least they were safe. They had to be. That was the only thing which still kept Harry sane and going.

xxxxx

It was later that day when Snape finally came to see him.

Seeing those black, loathing eyes and that mouth twisted in an eternal sneer ever since the man put a foot in his cell, Harry wondered if the man was even capable of a different or - god forbid it - pleasant expression. He made a passable blank stare but that could hardly be counted in Harry's opinion.

"You seem surprisingly fit, Potter," his ex-teacher began in a low, drawling voice, and his eyes raking over Harry's gaunt body which lay curled on the thin mattress.

"Judging from the Dark Lord's ill mood, I expected to find you at least unconscious."

Harry slowly got up, watching the Death Eater's unmoving, mask-like face. It was surprisingly rewarding feeling to be taller than that overgrown bat for once.

"I don't think our encounter went the way he expected," he said coldly.

"Typical. I warned the Dark Lord that you are the most obstructive, impudent and insufferable whelp I've ever met - aside from your father, of course. Apparently, he didn't get the message."

Harry gritted his teeth. He was just about to tell him with the same straightforwardness what he thought about him, when Snape added derisively.

"Never mind. I can see you're hurt, Potter. Do you need my assistance?"

That put the train of Harry's thoughts on a spur track.

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"I asked if you want my help, Potter. The Dark Lord ordered me to heal you. Although, there's not much I can do about your cloth ears."

"He ordered you to do… what?" Harry tried again, ignoring the snub.

"Don't ask me why. I have no idea."

"And that's the only reason why you are here?"

Snape looked at him for a moment and then said contemptuously.

"Surely even you could have worked out by now, Potter, that the Dark Lord wants to know why you are stuck in his body."

"Metaphorically speaking, of course," he added malevolently when Harry shot him an affronted glare.

"He ordered me to find out the reason."

Snape made a soft sound of an impatient distaste and then he sharply turned away from Harry and flicked his wand, conjuring a tall, narrow table by the window. His hand disappeared in his robes only to reappear a moment later holding a tiny black bag between his fingers. Another flourish of the wand made the object grow into its original proportions.

And Harry observed him in silence, trying to put two and two together. Snape was still as dishonest as ever, perfect in his performance. If Harry hasn't caught him lying the other day, he wouldn't have noticed a thing. This time, however, Snape was deceiving the Dark Lord and Harry was sure that no other man in the world would have guts or skills to do such a thing.

And he needed to know why.

He bit his lips, feeling very uncertain all of a sudden. If he pointed out his findings now, it would be just a shot in the dark. On the other hand, his surmises were often correct…

He decided to make a risky move. Not that he had much to lose anyway.

"I know you're lying to him, Snape," he began, his chilly voice very clear, even though he spoke quietly. "And I think that you know, or at least suspect, why I didn't change back. For some reason though, you told him otherwise."

The other wizard stopped unpacking items from the bag and slowly turned his head to Harry.

"Speculations, Potter?" he whispered, his black eyes glittering. "That's all you've got left? Dumbledore used to think much higher of you."

Hearing the name of his old mentor, Harry went through a rigorous struggle to keep his rage under control.

"I'm not buying this, Snape," he said through his teeth. "You won't distract me by talking about Dumbledore. This is about _you!_ Because I know that you've got Veritaserum in your secret stores and I know that you didn't give it to Voldemort on purpose. And you lied about that ring too."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak.

"Why are you trying to protect me, Snape? Why _you_ of all the people?"

The other man's face turned inscrutable. One corner of his thin mouth twitched a little, but that was the only reaction Harry got.

"Still spewing your nonsense at me, Potter?" he whispered then, his face deadly inert. "A little longer and I'd start feeling nostalgic. Now, if that was all from you, I have a work to do - not that I'm looking forward to it."

But Harry wasn't going to quit without a proper fight.

"I bet you are doing this on Dumbledore's orders."

Snape's lips jerked more wildly this time.

"I can see your desperate effort to find a _friend_ here, Potter. Let me tell you something - you are looking at the wrong person. Try Greyback next time!"

But Harry stubbornly ignored the open hostility swirling in those black eyes.

"Are you still working for the Order? Have you sworn Dumbledore an Unbreakable Vow? Is that why he trusted you so blindly?"

Snape slowly bared his yellowed teeth.

"You are absurd, Potter."

"Have you?-!"

"Potter..."

"Say whatever you want, Snape. I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't have simply put his trust in you if he didn't have a significant reason – other than senile ineptitude, of course…"

The Death Eater watched Harry for a long moment in complete silence and then they slowly turned away to the window.

"I told him that I wanted to die...," he said, his voice strangely empty.

"Why?" Harry whispered, barely breathing.

"Because something died inside me when he killed her...," Snape spoke quietly, his breath fogging the glass.

"Who … who are you talking about?" Harry whispered, his voice shaking.

"But Dumbledore told me not to, and he was right. I can die anytime I want. And maybe now is the right time."

Snape turned back to Harry, his face deadly pale.

"Do you know that I saw her every time I looked into your eyes? I saw her … and I was reminded her foolish choice..."

His voice was sour and broken, but that was nothing compared to how Harry felt. There was no doubt about who was on Snape's mind. What Harry found much more difficult was finding a way how to cope with it.

"You mean you saw ... my moth...?"

"But look at yourself now... I'm afraid, Potter, that your fate is sealed just as mine."

"You were in love with my … mother?" Harry, who barely listened to him, still tried to comprehend it.

"It doesn't matter, Potter. It changes nothing, do you understand?"

"But why - why are you telling me this?"

"Apparently, you still don't understand that Dumbledore didn't need me to swear him a thing. And before you ask, I killed him because he asked for that _favour_ months ago. I killed him because he was dying anyway. The curse which I managed to trap in his arm was already leaking and spreading through his body. It was just a matter of days at that time..." Snape said impassively, watching Harry by the corner of his eyes. "This way, I could at least save Draco's life and spare his unsullied soul. Any questions, Potter?"

"Yes - Why didn't you - anyone tell me about this before?" Harry asked throatily, thinking of Dumbledore in particular when he said _anyone_.

"And what makes you so special, Potter, that you must to know all of my privacy?"

Harry looked away, ashamed.

"So that's why Dumbledore never told me the truth when I asked him why he trusted you. I can understand it - but what I don't get is your timing. Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because the time has come. Dumbledore wanted to keep some information from you until the Dark Lord started fearing for Nagini. Recently, he's very fearful for her. He always keeps her close and when he has to leave her, he often conjures a protective cage around her."

Of course he does, Harry thought sourly, nodding.

"So what is it that Dumbledore wanted me to know?" he asked tiredly, knowing that whatever it was, he surely won't like it.

Snape remained quiet for a moment and Harry could feel his contemplative gaze. Surprisingly, it wasn't accompanied by his typical arrogant sneer.

"Dumbledore told me," Snape began slowly, "that the night the Dark Lord tried to kill you, the Killing Curse rebounded upon him and his damaged soul was blasted apart. A living fragment of it latched itself onto the only..."

"...me," Harry interrupted him coldly, but his heart jumped into his throat. "It latched itself onto me."

Snape's black eyes narrowed at him.

"How long do you know that, Potter?"

"I … I suspected it … for a while."

There was a brief silence during which Snape turned back to the windowpane.

"Anyway," he said dispassionately, squeezing his hands behind his back, "the Dark Lord cannot die as long as that piece lives inside you. I believe I don't have to explain what it means for you."

"You don't," Harry nodded lifelessly. But knowing something was one thing – accepting it was something else altogether. The room started to sway around Harry and he sank back onto the bed heavily.

"Dumbledore never expected me to win...," he whispered, staring down at his long, dirty fingers. "I wasn't meant to survive."

Quiet footsteps approached him but he didn't bother to look up. The other man said nothing which suited Harry just fine. He didn't need to hear a confirmation.

"There is one more thing, Potter. The Dark Lord must do it. It is essential. Now, take this."

When Harry raised his head, the other wizard handed him a small, ivory vial.

"He won't kill me when I'm like this," Harry shook his head. "Which is lucky for me since I haven't finished my task yet. What is it?"

"Skele-Gro," Snape said tersely, watching Harry uncork the vial and sniff the potion. "The Dark Lord informed me that he had to remove two of your broken ribs which accidentally pierced your lungs. And that he healed the worst damage."

"Yes," Harry said solemnly. "I remember…"

"I hope you realize, Potter, that the Dark Lord wouldn't have done this for anyone– except himself."

Harry brought the vial to his lips, grimacing ironically.

"Yes, I'm _such a__ lucky_ person - until I change back."

"I don't think you will."

Harry swallowed the liquid in one gulp and shuddered – and for a different reason than the burning taste.

"What do you mean?"

"His soul lives inside you, Potter. His soul considers _this_ to be your true body. Since you haven't changed back yet, I'm sure that it's his magic which sustains your current appearance and artificially prolongs the effect of the potion. It cannot be removed by force, since it exists here," Snape scoffed, pointing his slightly crooked finger at Harry's chest. "So don't expect to be changing back anytime soon."

"Don't tell me that...," Harry said, staring disbelievingly at the other man.

This was beyond preposterous... No, Snape was just harrowing him to appease his queer sense of humour. It couldn't be truth... Harry could handle a lot but this...

"You're not serious, are you? I'm not him! I'll turn back eventually! There must be a way! Something … anything … please!"

Harry got up fast, gazing into the emotionless eyes of his ex-teacher. Contrary to his expectation, there was no hidden malice in them, only dark emptiness.

Harry's knees gave out. He felt that his world was crumbling apart and he too was falling in some deep, black, endless hole, which was crushing him, choking him and slowly devitalizing him like a Dementor's kiss.

"I cannot help you, Potter. Soul magic is not my expertise," Snape stated coldly and maybe Harry only imagined disinterest in his voice but in his current emotional state it was enough to set him off.

"WHY THE FUCK DUMBLEDORE DIDN'T TELL ME ABOUT THIS?-!" he screamed, his nail raking his face. "I wouldn't have even considered drinking that bloody potion made from his goddamned fingernail then!"

"A little louder, Potter, if you please. He hasn't heard us yet," Snape sneered venomously.

"Fuck off!"

"Oh, something bad happened to you, Potter? And you don't have a surrogate mother to cry on her shoulder? Have you made a mistake and now you're paying for it, alone and desolate? Welcome to my world, then. Be a man and face it."

Harry looked up, gazing at him in silence disturbed only by his irregular breath. There was something horrible and yet remarkable about the man before him, who lived in his personal hell for twenty long years and though he turned into a sour, vexatious bastard, he never really stopped fighting – and probably hoping for someone's forgiveness, even though there was no light at the end of the tunnel for him.

And neither for Harry. His death was scheduled like a long expected execution of an infamous mass murderer. What a great epilogue to Dumbledore's faultless plan aimed to destroy Voldemort... Funny, no one bothered to ask him how he felt about it...

But if he had to die, if there was really no other choice, he wanted to die as himself. Was that really too much to ask?

"I need to change back, Snape," he said shakily. "So if there is anything you can think of..."

The black eyes flicked back to Harry, contemplating him even when he curled in pain as his speedily regrowing ribs began to force their way through his unhealed tissue.

"Hypothetically," he drawled then, stroking his lips, "there is always a chance. But I can only surmise that it would require a strong, mutual emotional involvement … perhaps even an attachment."

"What – what do you mean by that?" Harry asked, grimacing and gasping for breath.

"As I said, my knowledge of this kind of magic is rather limited. Yet, from what I know, I believe that a shared, powerful emotion could hypothetically bring the piece of his soul back where it belongs. If the Dark Lord were to feel remorse or some form of ... deep affection for you, Potter, then I assume it could possibly happen."

"Awesome," Harry sighed tiredly, knowing that what Snape just suggested was something virtually impossible. "And how can I possibly make him feel that way?"

Snape shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't. Well, sharing some intimacies could theoretically work, but the result would be very uncertain and frankly, I would prefer a death, if I were you."

"Hah … and here I thought he was asexual," Harry snorted, staring at the floor.

"I find myself very fortunate that I cannot answer that," Snape grimaced. "Now stand up, Potter. I need to heal your face and back." Harry got up obediently, rubbing his sore chest. Snape worked in silence for several minutes, until he finally said quietly. "You shall know that this wasn't meant to be my job, Potter. Nevertheless, since Travers and Belatrix both suffered the Dark Lord's wrath last night and they are mostly incapacitated today, I had to leave the school to take care of you."

Harry quickly met the coal-black eyes, allowing himself to experience the first tiniest trickle of relief. Was that Snape's way of telling him that the worst probably had not happened yet? Because Harry remembered that Travers unwittingly betrayed the information about the Order and Bellatrix was assigned to hunt down his friends. If they were punished, it could only mean that Voldemort's plans failed...

"Ron and Hermione…," he whispered after a moment, "and the rest of the Order ... they all escaped?"

"Still questioning me, Potter?" Snape's lips curved to his usual sneer, but Harry didn't buy that adversary gesture. Now that the dark cloud of worries and grave thoughts started to dissolve above his head, his body relaxed and with disappearing tension he became more and more aware of his rather acute bodily needs and deprivations.

Not for long enough though...

"Severus."

That chilly voice pierced Harry's brain like an ice splinter and burst his tiny happy bubble, leaving him staring aimlessly at the wall with only one thought circling in his head.

How was it possible that he didn't hear him coming?

But the next second he knew the answer. Silencing Charm. How simple.

And then the voice spoke again, colder than before.

"I expected you to question him...," it said and after an awful pause it added, "...and not the other way around."

"It's useless to demand answers from Potter, my Lord. His knowledge of this issue is minimal. He merely lives in false hopes," Snape replied quickly and Harry heard him shuffle as he probably bowed to Voldemort.

"It depends how false his hopes are, Severus, because I've noticed that he is not as useless as you consider him. Not like the young Malfoy who cannot even stomach to kill his enemy..."

Harry forced himself to turn his head towards Voldemort, and felt an instant chill at seeing him standing in the doorway, taut, reserved and menacing as always. The dark wizard didn't look at him. His blood red eyes were fixed to Snape's languid face instead.

"And yet you believe that Potter cannot give me the answer," he whispered softly.

"I'm certain of it, Master."

"Why is that so?" Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrow, genuinely interested in Snape's reply.

"Because he acts without thinking, my Lord. He rarely makes convenient plans or regards consequences of his actions and this is the result of it."

"But you've found the heart of the problem, Severus, haven't you?"

"I've only made one hypothesis so far, my Lord."

Voldemort's gesture was clear. He wanted to know more – and Harry deeply feared what Snape will be forced to tell him.

"I dare to presume," Snape began slowly, "that the most relevant reason for the potion's long-lasting effects is in your magic, Master."

At that point Harry barely held back a gasp. He couldn't believe that Snape was really going to give up that secret!

"My magic?" Voldemort whispered dangerously. "How could the boy possibly get an access to it?"

"I think it's via you fingernail, Master. Usually, a hair or a nail of a common magician contains virtually no magic. But you are the most powerful wizard of all, my Lord. I believe it's correct to assume, that your fingernail is a highly magical substance, which could have enhanced the potion's power significantly."

Voldemort instantly relaxed. Harry was surprised how blindly the Dark Lord accepted Snape's words only because wanted to believe in them; he wanted to hear that he was unique and greatest of all and that a single piece of his nail could be so powerful that it could change the potion's properties so dramatically.

Harry had to admit that he was amazed by Snape's knowledge of Voldemort. He knew precisely what to say to him in order to stay in his favour. He didn't lie about the essential part; he just didn't say the whole truth and fabricated the rest of the story, leading him to a wrong conclusion. Moreover, any possible uncertainty or hesitation which Voldemort probably noticed could be ascribed to the fact that Snape presented everything only as a theory...

Harry wished to learn how to mimic Snape's poker face; at moments like this it would be a priceless ability. Yet all he could do right now was clearing his mind of any treacherous thoughts and hoping that Voldemort will believe in Snape's words of his uselessness...

Then the gleaming eyes of his archenemy finally turned to him and Harry, unprepared for it, instantly lost himself in a tidal wave of Voldemort's aching memories. He was overwhelmed by his panicky fear at seeing himself in this very room, writhing in pain on this dirty floor, coughing up blood and smearing it everywhere...

And he couldn't cope with it…

He has spent whole his life making himself invulnerable and invincible. So how could his own faultless body struggle to breathe, to live, only to fail again and again? Hadn't he vanquished that terrifying human weakness in himself?

Seeing that very last breath … the last convulsion, he knew he had to act. It was obligatory. He had to stop it before it was too late and that sight broke him…

And then there was a joy … he was alive … never to die … never…

But it was also Potter. It's always been _Potter_. He could see that in those red eyes which were so alike his...

Shame and rage boiled inside him at a mere thought of what he had done...

At that point Harry closed his eyes and turned his head away, interrupting that unwanted insight into Voldemort's trauma. He didn't want to know anything about the other man's feelings or suffering. It made him too human and Voldemort didn't deserve to be called that.

"You stink, Potter."

Harry looked up in surprise. Voldemort was standing right in front of him, wearing a mildly disgusted expression.

Still watching his face, Harry slowly bent his head to his dirty robes and sniffed himself. The intense smell of grime, drying blood and sweat was truly gruesome. Turning back to Voldemort, Harry shrugged.

"It's _your_ stench," he said listlessly. "And it'll get a lot worse if I'm not allowed to visit a bathroom … in a minute or two."

Hearing that, Snape failed to stifle a chortle. Well, someone else would probably consider it a decent cough, but Harry liked the idea of laughter better.

Voldemort turned on his heel towards his servant who bowed to him deeply.

"I'll take care of it right away, my Lord," Snape noted in a perfectly calm, controlled voice.

"That will be not necessary, Severus. You may go," Voldemort cut him off coldly and Harry felt a sudden fierce grip right above his left elbow.

Before he could do as much as to try to wrench his arm free, all Harry's bowels including his bulging bladder flipped over. The clutch on his arm disappeared the next instant and Harry blinked as he found himself somewhere else. Never before he had Apparated so fast. He remembered Voldemort doing this during the battle with Dumbledore but Harry had no idea that it would feel so different.

Then he shook off that weird feeling and scrutinized the spacious room instead. Long, green, heavy curtains covered the windows but Harry's faultless eyes could see all the details even in this semidarkness. He was sure that this place originally served as a sitting room. There was a high-backed armchair standing in front of a large fireplace with a small rounded table situated right beside it. The next thing Harry noticed were two ancient leather sofas, one by the windows and the other closer to the centre of the room. Other than that he could see several historical cupboards, a large wardrobe and a surprisingly small worktable with an old lamp and many books and parchments piling neatly on it.

Strangely, the first association which crossed Harry's mind was Petunia's kitchen. Though the room was completely different, dark and ancient, there was not a single speck of dust anywhere. It was rather unnatural; as if any form of dirt feared to besmear this perfection. Harry didn't have to look at himself to know that he belonged into that prohibited category.

All in all, it was a room of a pedant who wanted everything in his life under his control.

Being taken to Voldemort's private chambers by none other than Voldemort himself caused Harry's sore back to stiffen in trepidation.

"I thought it was urgent, Potter."

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and turned after the mocking voice.

Voldemort stood in front of an opened door, watching him while twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers impatiently.

Harry didn't respond. He passed him quickly, avoiding a single glance at him or at the decorations of the large, green and silver luxury bathroom. He headed straight to a marble toilet, stumbling a little since he only had one shoe on (the other was lost somewhere among the ruins of Gringotts Bank), and once there, he quickly lifted his robes, undid the buttons on his trousers … and paused.

After a moment he slowly turned his head to Voldemort who stood a couple of feet behind him, still watching his every movement.

"Err … can I have some privacy?" Harry asked, feeling utterly silly.

"Can _I_, Potter?" Voldemort countered, hissing like a nettled snake. "Since it is _my_ body you're about to bare?"

Harry turned away, considering this for a while, but when he wheeled back, he realized that Voldemort was already gone. He only heard a quiet click as the spell locked the door. That was a remarkably tactful and considerate of someone with such a gruesome personality. No sneers, no humiliation … Voldemort really had a soft spot for himself... Harry sighed in relief, taking a leak quickly while trying not to think too much about whose penis he was holding.

But more importantly, he was glad that he managed to keep that terrible secret which oppressed his heart for himself.

At least for now, because it was impossible to keep it from Voldemort forever, he thought bitterly as he buttoned himself up and went to wash the grime off his hands. Harry tried to imagine what would Voldemort do once he learned that a piece of his soul lived inside him... Would he be furious? Or scared? Would he try to help him get that piece back where it belongs? Or would he simply kill him in a fit of fury? Somehow, Harry expected the last option. Voldemort surely wouldn't accept it; he would kill him and with his death all the chances to destroy the remaining Horcruxes would be gone too. Ultimately, it dawned on Harry, that the only way how to prevent this was escape. As Snape said, he could die any time he wanted – and Harry decided that unlike him, his time hasn't come yet...

He quickly washed his face to refresh himself and as he watched the water ran over his long, spidery fingers, he suddenly realized that for some inexplicable reason he was neither thirsty, nor hungry. Surely, if he were in his true body, he would be ravenous by this point. It wasn't normal for anyone to lack these basic urges. Or maybe Voldemort's body was simply very good in suppressing them. But Harry definitely didn't want to risk dehydration and so he leaned down to a silver tap and drank the water eagerly. Now that he did, he finally began to feel his burning thirst and also relief as he quenched it with every gulp he took.

Having filled his stomach with cold water, Harry straightened up his still hurting back, looked in the mirror above the sink and his eyes fell at a large bathtub in the opposite corner of the bathroom.

It was steaming.

Harry slowly approached it, staring at it with mild disbelief. It was filled to a brim with hot water and a very simple deduction brought him to realization that it had to be Voldemort who prepared it for him. Normally, that would be a perfect reason to refuse this generous offer, but right now Harry couldn't bring himself to do it.

Carefully, Harry dipped his forefinger into the water, testing the temperature. It was perfect. Already eager to shake off that terrible, unceasing coldness he felt ever since gained Voldemort's ghastly appearance, Harry shed his garments, piece after piece, and quickly slipped into the water, groaning in delight. The few remaining untreated wounds stung badly, but it was nothing compared to the bliss of the warmth oozing through his skin to his frozen core.

Harry let his head drop to the bathtub's brim and closed his eyes, exhaling softly.

It wasn't just perfect, it was something beyond that. Harry would love to spend here the whole day, effectively erasing all troubles and worries from his mind...

Slowly he began to rub his delicate skin, removing remaining bits of encrusted dirt. Too relaxed to open his eyes, he just used his touch to find the places which needed his attention...

And then something very odd slid over his skin. It was warm, but strangely scaly. And surprisingly heavy too...

Harry's eyes shot open as something flicked against his ear.

"_**May I join you, Massster?"**_

Carefully, trying to move as little as possible, he turned his head, coming 'face to face' with a huge snake. Harry forgot how to breathe. He remembered her, of course, from their last encounter in Godric's Hollow. But that time she was trying to kill him. Now she was enjoying a bath with him … nuzzling him … and resting her head … on his shoulder!

It didn't happen very often that Harry was unable to react. This was one of those very rare events. Firstly, he should hear her or feel her slither into his bathtub, but the recent sensory overload made it very difficult for him to keep track of everything and unlike Voldemort, Harry missed numerous years of training and adapting to his enhanced senses.

The snake noticed Harry's petrified face and drew back a little.

"_**Something's bothering you, Massster?"**_

"N-No," Harry stuttered out in his deadly stupor.

Secondly, he should have attacked her, he should have tried to drown her or whatever, but his mind and body refused to cooperate. He could only watch her leave the bathtub slowly, slid to the floor and disappear in...

Finally it clicked in and Harry jumped from the water, sank to his knees and quickly followed the snake to her escape route which was a foot wide pipe under the sink.

"Damn!" Harry cursed under his breath. He had another Horcrux within his grasp and he let it slip away – again! The pipe was too narrow; he couldn't fit in there...

Hang on!

Harry got up, leaning against the sink. He was a Horcrux too. It was time for him to finally accept it – and use that potential. Voldemort's magic allowed him to change into a snake once. If he could do it before what held him back from doing it again? It couldn't be that difficult...

Harry began to pace back and forth, trying to remember how exactly he managed to change the last time.

Unfortunately, all he remembered was his fear and desire to escape a certain death under the falling rocks and boulders...

Disappointed, he knelt back to the pipe.

Harry refused to give up. He forced his head and arm inside, moving further in, even at a risk of getting stuck there. Blood pounded in his ears and somewhere far ahead he heard the snake's quiet hissing...

"_**Massster..."**_

The pipe seemed wider now and he began pursuing that voice...

It was very dark and cold inside, but Harry ignored his discomfort. The tube seemed endless and soon enough Harry felt how his muscles began to protest against that abnormal movement of his body.

He stopped at the place where the pipe parted in two, listening for any sound.

"_**I'm here, Massster."**_

Harry immediately turned to the left and his long body slithered down into a larger pipe which lead him out into another bathroom.

This one was definitely darker and also a lot filthier than the previous one, since the floor was covered with bones and other stuff which reminded Harry - to his utter horror and distaste - human remains.

"_**Massster never takes on this form when he's with me..."**_

Nagini was right beside him and Harry suddenly felt very threatened by her abnormal length.

Like she could eat him in a blink of her eye, if she decided to do so.

Therefore, he instinctively tried to defend himself, but before he said anything, it got across to him that the snake wasn't suspicious at all – she sounded delighted.

"_**And he rarely visits me in my den..."**_

And then she was already coiling her body around his in endless loops.

"_**Nagini!"**_ Harry hissed, frightened at first that he'll become a dinner and terrified later when he realized that the female snake had no intention of killing him. She planned something worse.

"_**Stop!"**_

But the snake didn't listen, winding and pressing her muscled body closer to his in an attempt to mate with him...

Harry screamed, and to his extreme delight, it was once again Voldemort's icy cold voice, which escaped his lips. He freed himself from the clutch of her coiling body and without waiting for anything or anyone, he flung the bathroom's door open, burst into the empty corridor and galloped away as if his life depended on it.

The Malfoy Manor represented a true maze of corridors for a panicking teenager to run around. Without any windows to guide his direction, Harry soon felt that he was lost forever.

Tired and breathless, he finally stopped and leaned against an old tapestry on the wall, taking deep breaths. He was so screwed. Voldemort already discovered that he had escaped, he could feel his scathing rage. Harry could only hope now that he would encounter some meek Death Eater, who wouldn't question him for being wandless and naked and who would kindly accompany him to the closest exit.

Which, as he expected, wasn't happening to him on this side of the universe.

Harry palmed his face, trying to suppress violent shivers which racked his body. It couldn't be possibly worse than this. Traumatized, frozen again and soon to be ripped apart – no, it couldn't be worse.

It simply couldn't.

But the quick, heel-clicking steps approaching him convinced him of the contrary.

Harry hurried over to the closest door he discovered and tried to break inside the locked room. He couldn't possibly stay here in the open without at least trying to...

"My Lord?"

All right, maybe he was wrong with his previous assumption.

Harry slowly let go of the handle and turned to Bellatrix, who stood before him, trying to bow to him while ogling his body as if she's never seen anything so perfect and lustworthy before.

She didn't suspect him to be a double, Harry realized and quickly attempted to think of what would Voldemort possibly do in his shoes. But the problem was that Voldemort would never get into this situation – which left him with another, even bigger problem.

"Bellatrix?" he tried, sounding rather unsure.

"I-I was just wondering, Master," she whispered, licking her lips several times, "is everything all right?"

Now Harry had to correct himself. She wasn't just ogling him, she was openly leering at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and she was sweating profusely. Harry wondered if it would affect Voldemort's dignity somehow if he tried to cover himself. Because as much as he hated to admit it, her hungry stare began to affect him. Fortunately for his sanity though, his revulsion prevailed.

"Yes, of course it is," Harry answered, trying to keep his voice as cold and steady as he could. "Or is there any reason why it shouldn't be?"

"No, my Lord," she said so hastily that her voice faltered. "I was just a little surprised … but immensely honoured that you've decided to grant me with your godly presence in my private chambers... Am - am I forgiven, Master? Is that why you sent Rodolphus on the mission abroad last night?"

"Y-your … your chambers?" Harry stammered, his mouth desiccating to a quality of a hundred year old parchment.

Screw his dignity, he just wanted to scream and run away.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips swaying seductively as she came closer to him. "My Lord … you know that I only seek to serve you by any means possible. Ask anything you desire, my Lord," she whispered adoringly, "...and I'll do it for you … right away."

At that point Harry could either receive a help in a form of a Killing Curse coming from one maddened Dark Lord, or use Bellatrix's infatuation to his advantage. Composing himself as fast as he could, Harry chose the second option.

"I want your wand, Bellatrix," he said throatily. "And your cloak."

She was just a foot from him, leaning in, while Harry was pressing his back to the hard, wooden surface of the door behind him.

At first her face fell when she heard his words, but then she smiled and knelt before him obediently. Harry couldn't tell what she intended to do because his head was momentarily obliterated by another monumental wave of Voldemort's fury. He was getting closer … too close!

"Hurry up!" he hissed between his clenched teeth and when he opened his eyes, he saw her eager mouth almost touching his flaccid dick.

Harry's stomach churned. He grasped her hair, pulling her away but then a loud, icy shriek stopped his every movement, stabbing Harry's heart with each livid syllable.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?-!"

The dark haired woman turned after the voice, her eyes wide as saucers. She backed away from Harry, alternating her traumatized glances between the true Voldemort standing at the corner and his perfect copy leaning against the door. She seemed at the verge of faintness, crawling away from them, her eyes glistering with tears.

"M-Master...," she wheezed. "Master … please … don't … I don't understand. Master!"

Voldemort slowly raised his wand.

"No, Master! Please, I-I beg you!"

"_Obliviate!"_

The powerful spell hit Bellatrix squarely into her chest and she fell backwards onto the floor, unconscious.

Only then Voldemort slowly came over to Harry, who was merely wondering whether it will happen now.

Their scarlet eyes met, one pair of them ablaze.

"Having fun you … WHORE?-!"

And Voldemort slapped him hard, the sharp edges of his nails leaving deep marks in Harry's soft skin.

But Harry didn't utter a sound and neither he tried to shake off the other man's vice grip on his arm.

Instead, he slowly straighten himself up again, watching Voldemort calmly.

"Pretending to be a martyr, now? Ready to die - for what? I won't make it that easy for you, Potter! You owe me some answers!"

And with that Harry's inwards flipped over again.

_**R&R**_

_**(Parseltongue)  
**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:** Finally, I can post a new chapter! This one is somewhat angsty compared to the previous ones, but I still like the outcome. :)

xxxxx

**Falling to pieces**

xxxxx

Back in the darkened sitting room with long, green curtains covering the windows and fervent heat radiating off the fireplace, Harry found himself standing before the massive mantelpiece. Warmth seeped into his chilled body like water penetrating a dried sponge, yet with Voldemort's fury swelling inside his head and his fierce and bruising like the grip on his arm, Harry barely perceived the sensation. Being this close to each other, it was impossible to disentangle himself from seemingly endless loops of Voldemort's mind. From glimpses of his thoughts, Harry expected the hell break lose any second.

"I was patient," Voldemort began, his voice dangerously quiet and soft. "I was kind - merciful even."

Harry gasped for breath as a new stab of rage drove a sword through him. He still fought to keep his mind blank by staring determinedly at some point behind Voldemort's shoulder. Tepid fingers caught Harry's chin, forcing him to look at the dark wizard.

"And this is how you repaid me, Potter."

His anger was more controlled now, tamed to a tolerable level by a strong sense of purpose. Voldemort turned away from him and crossed the dim room, his long robes swirling behind him like clouds of black smoke.

"You think you're safe here, don't you, Potter?" he spoke to the wardrobe, summoning some robes with a flick of his wand. "Safe to do whatever you like – such as discrediting Lord Voldemortbyhaving sexual encounterswith his servants." Voldemort's voice became much colder with suppressed malice. "I admit," he whispered quietly, "I didn't expect that when you asked for some privacy."

Harry kept his mouth shut, even though there were hundreds of things he would like to say right then. He was the one who suffered double abuse from Voldemort's nasty pet and his even nastier slut. Yet, if Riddle refused to see that, there was no point in bringing it out.

"I'm not the one to tolerate insults – and I will not do so even now."

Voldemort's red eyes bored into Harry as he came back and thrust the clothes roughly into Harry's hand. "Get dressed, Potter," he said. "You want to look representable before the prisoners, don't you?"

"Prisoners?"

The word slipped from Harry's lips before he could stop himself.

"Yes," Voldemort sneered maliciously. "Prisoners. They'll be here within a minute."

Harry didn't even twitch, petrified by worries as he was.

Was Snape mistaken? Had Bellatrix caught Ron and Hermione after all? And if yes, what would he do?

Harry slowly pulled the robes over his head, barely breathing. Panic pulsed in the pit of his stomach as he imagined all the drastic scenarios. He couldn't dare to hope to be so lucky like the last time...

Drowning in his dark thoughts he almost overheard the distant steps, which were coming closer quickly, becoming louder and louder until they stopped before the door.

A soft knock was followed by Voldemort's chilly order.

"Enter."

The door slid open and Harry felt an instant, unwanted wave of relief: it wasn't his friends. It was a man and a woman Harry did not know followed by - and Harry's heart nearly stopped again - two children.

"Master?" the masked Death Eater came to halt at a doorstep, bowing to Voldemort, who approached him.

"That will be all, Dolohov," the Dark Lord whispered. The man, clearly relieved that nothing else was requested from him, didn't even straighten his spine as he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Harry stepped out of the shadow of the mantelpiece, watching the newcomers with nervous apprehension. All of them were unnaturally silent and still, staring glassily ahead like some puppets whose strings were cut.

"Potter," Voldemort addressed him softy after he circled his prisoners like a hungry predator. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Smith and his dirty Muggle family. I considered them all pretty useless, but as it is, they may serve my case in the end."

Harry looked down at the cute blond girl and then at the innocent face of her younger brother. His wide blue eyes and freckles all over his nose reminded Harry of Ron when he saw him the first time at the King's Cross.

"Why?" he forced out of his narrowed throat, feeling distinctly sick. "Why are you doing this? What have they ever done to you except being lovely and kind?"

Voldemort crouched down next to the girl, sliding the Elder Wand through his white fingers.

"Ah, you'd be surprised to know that they wronged me almost as badly as you did, Potter."

He straightened himself up with elegance of a black panther and approached the seemingly lifeless, round-faced man, whose average frame barely reached up to his shoulders.

"Smith is a dirty Mudblood who's been working for the Ministry of Magic for nearly sixteen years. Not very surprisingly, he decided to take a foul Muggle wife, sharing the greatest secrets of our society with her – and some of them even with his worthless offspring."

Voldemort started to move around the room, speaking in a precisely measured voice, under which Harry could feel pulsing anger.

"That would be hardly any of my concern," he continued quietly, "since he's not the first and regrettably not the last one to do so. It's up to Snatchers to deal with this filth. This man, however, went much further than that, when he inherited a fortune after his wealthy Muggle parents and decided to buy a mansion twelve years ago..."

Voldemort paused and Harry winced as his rage suddenly spiked.

"A mansion which belonged to the noble family of Gaunt for many centuries."

Voldemort spun to Harry, his red eyes aflame.

"I trust you know all about the Gaunts, don't you Potter?"

Harry sucked in his sore lower lip which he was constantly biting to distract himself from Voldemort's ire. He couldn't keep quiet any longer though.

"What does it matter?" he retorted when the Dark Lord raised the wand, pointing it at the bewitched man. "That house doesn't belong to your family for a good one hundred years! Even your mother already lived in that lousy shack outside Little Hangleton. Isn't it actually better that someone is taking care of it instead of leaving it to rot as well?"

Voldemort looked at him strangely and then burst in the most singularly frightening laugh Harry had ever heard. It stopped as abruptly as it began.

"Taking care of it…," he sneered, before cackling mirthlessly again. "Taking care of it! He _destroyed_ it, Potter! He erased it to the last brick and stone, building a new, dreadful hovel on its foundations! This filth ruined my true home, forcing the great Lord Voldemort to live like a scum in a servant's house!"

Harry's mouth went dry. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

"I-I'm sure he had no idea...," he stuttered out eventually.

"He will die tonight, Potter. He will die after I killed his wife and progeny before his eyes."

"Don't...!" Harry cried, but Voldemort silenced him with a flick of the wand.

"Theoretically," he said, flourishing his hand towards the children. "I may spare this little vermin, if I feel generous. Their future is entirely in your hands, Potter. Whether they live or die depends only on you."

Harry's breath got stuck in his windpipe. Never before he felt so cornered. After a few endless seconds of deep inner turmoil, he slowly nodded. As if he had another choice than to agree...

"Very good. You will tell me the truth now, Potter. I want to know everything what you've discovered about my Hocruxes. Let me warn you though: lie to me once, just once, and I shall slay them all - starting with this little girl!"

Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the nausea.

"I wish you knew … I wish you could feel that what you're doing is beyond evil!"

"We have a very different view of what is right and what is wrong, Harry Potter."

"That we do," Harry said listlessly.

"Unlike you, Lord Voldemort does not seek the company of Mudbloods and bloodtraitors, the sole reason why our society is in ruins," Voldemort whispered icily. "And he does not eat his victims."

Harry blinked owlishly for a couple of seconds, completely taken aback by that absurd insinuation.

"Who would have thought that being in someone's company is a worse crime than a murder! Oh, and by the way, I don't kill people and I certainly don't _eat_ them!"

"I wasn't talking about people, Potter."

Harry's confusion rocketed to the new heights.

"Err...," he cleared his throat, shaking his head. "But animals... That's something completely different!"

"Is it?" Voldemort asked softly.

Harry would take a step back, if there weren't a fire right behind him.

"This - this is preposterous!" he sputtered out instead. "You can't compare poultry to human beings!"

"Can't I? You've obviously forgotten, Potter, that I spent thirteen years possessing animals, living their petty lives, one after another... You've forgotten that animals are so similar to wizards and witches that we can transform into them. You've forgotten that some of them are so intelligent that they have their own unique languages. Their society consists of winners and losers the same way the Muggle society does. There is no significant difference between Muggles and animals, Potter. No difference at all."

"Is that how you apologize all those countless murders you've committed so far?" Harry whispered, shaken to the core. The reality was, however, even worse and Harry knew that.

"No, you don't...," he breathed out a moment later. "You don't really care who you killed."

Harry gulped dryly a couple of times, his throat narrowing again with that heart-wrenching emotion. Eventually, he shook off that stifling constriction and he attempted a counter-attack. "Besides, what are you saying about not eating your victims – have you forgotten that snake of yours? If I recall, I was on her menu once!"

The gleaming red eyes stabbed Harry like two daggers.

"Are you trying to point out something, Potter?" the Dark Lord whispered quietly.

Harry, furious with himself for making such a mistake, quickly looked away. He practically told Voldemort that he knew the snake was a Horcrux!

"We'll get to that soon. Concerning Nagini, she is a carnivore, Potter," Voldemort said nastily. "That leaves her without much of a choice. Moreover, I was raised in a filthy Muggle orphanage, being told over and over that _I must not waste food_. Nagini agrees."

Harry dug his nails into his skin.

"You're seriously insane," he breathed out. " If you ever loved … or if you at least cared for someone a little, you would never be able to say or do any of these horrible things..."

"Love...," Voldemort sneered derisively. "Dumbledore's most pitiful weakness and excuse for everything! You already sound like him, Potter."

"I'd say I'm honoured, but I'm not a kid any more. I can't pretend that Dumbledore was some flawless icon. He wasn't and neither am I. But if anything, he's got one thing right. There's no life without love and he rightfully pitied everyone who fails to see that."

"If you cannot live without love, Potter, than it's you who deserves pity," Voldemort jeered without paying it any thought to Harry's message.

"You're sadly mist...," Harry began, but Voldemort stopped him again with a flick of his wand.

"I'm fed up with your insolent twaddle. Let's get back to business. What do you know about my Horcruxes and who gave you that information?

"Dumbledore told me," Harry said after a short pause, which he spent watching the Dark Lord reproachfully.

"Dumbledore. Of course...," Voldemort hissed, his eyes gleaming. "How did he figure it out?"

"How can I know? He just shared his suspicion with me. Nothing certain," Harry strained through his teeth.

Voldemort made a displeased gesture and stepped closer to Harry. Though they were exactly the same height, he appeared to be looming over him menacingly.

""You're being a way too vague, Potter! Don't try my patience and tell me how did you find them!"

"I guess I was lucky?" Harry snapped, but regretted it right away because he made Voldemort turn the wand at the family again.

Harry uttered a curse under his breath. It was risky, but he needed to avert Voldemort's rage from them to himself.

"Why should I tell you," he tried, "since you plan to kill them anyway?"

It seemed like a good start for negotiation to Harry; a good way to buy some time for an alternate plan...

Only it wasn't. The Dark Lord didn't follow the rules – he made his own. The Elder Wand cut the air like a tail of an attacking scorpion.

"_Avada..."_

Harry wouldn't have expected it if something inside him didn't suddenly curl up in pain. The room span before his eyes, but only once. He regained self control remarkably fast and then, driven by his most human instinct, he jumped before Voldemort, arms splayed like a scarecrow, blocking the Dark Lord's view and aim.

"_...Kedavra!"_

It's got to be Voldemort's uniquely enhanced senses that warned him about Harry's intentions in the very last second. He yanked his hand away from Harry, directing the nasty green blast at one of the sofas which burst into flames. For a moment frozen in time they watched each other, blank disbelief mixing with fierce resolution.

"If you want to kill them," Harry broke the silence as calmly as he managed, "you've got to kill me first."

The long white fingers squeezed around the Elder Wand so tightly that the whole hand was shaking. Harry could feel Voldemort's momentary shock give way to his infamous fury which mounted in him like a magma in a soon-to-be erupting volcano. The magic fizzled in the air, the windowpanes shook and the fire roared in the fireplace and yet Harry calmly stood before him, composed as never before, his strong will protecting his mind from any intrusion.

The Deathstick slashed through the air once again, this time aiming at Harry. The invisible force unhinged Harry's mind and pierced it like a blazing blade. He collapsed under that assault, screaming, clutching at his head, but the force dug deeper and deeper, pulling out memories he wanted to keep away, safely hidden from anyone including himself.

_Stiff, clammy hands of the Inferi were dragging him under the surface of the black lake..._

_The scorching heat of blazing treasure was burning his skin, leaving red, opened blisters everywhere..._

_Thousands of __ice __cold daggers were stabbing him as he fought with the locket's chain which slowly tightened around his windpipe..._

_Sirius was falling through the Arch __and the sight ripped his heart apart__..._

_And Dumbledore was telling him: "Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number…Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort."_

_Snape __brutally __invaded his mind but it was just a poor, harmless practice compared to what he felt right now. A mere hint of what it could really become and how far it could go. _

Something moved inside Harry's chest, awakened and irritated.

_The green light hit the headmaster straight into the chest and he saw Snape's face curled with revulsion and hate as he lowered his wand._

_And then he was the snake and he was attacking Mr. Weasley, biting into his flesh, feeling his warm blood seeping down his throat..._

The strange being squirmed inside him jerkily, hurt and irate. It tightened its coils around Harry's heart, seeking its warmth and comfort.

Harry was losing it. The last of his defences were crumbling apart, leaving him vulnerable and fully exposed to whatever atrocities Voldemort planned to do to his mind.

_I must die._

This knowledge, repressed and hidden among his deepest and darkest thoughts, was brought to the light and exposed in the most hurtful way. The more Harry tried to shield away, the more he was bringing the Dark Lord in: it hurt like a salt in an opened wound, like an acid on his skin. He could feel that Voldemort was getting closer and closer to that burning secret and Harry mobilized all his remaining strength to stop him.

It wasn't enough.

Flooded by pain, Harry's mind was sliding down the edge of awareness into the sweet, dark abyss of oblivion.

And then Voldemort touched the snake which lay curled around Harry's heart and it rose up rabidly and struck against that intrusive force, unleashing such a power that Harry's mind was completely overwhelmed by it.

The Dark Lord's wail of pure agony was the last thing Harry heard before the pain was gone and his head dropped to the floor.

xxxxx

It was an unusual room. Whatever its functions were, being lived in wasn't apparently one of them. First, there were hundreds of handmade rag rugs covering everything within sight. Then more teapots than one might think possible. Porcelain dragons with bulging red eyes. Strange cake stands. Miscellaneous statues and painted plates with little messages on them. Pictures everywhere on the walls, but they were so old and pale that no one could say for certainty what they originally showed.

Apart from six decrepit chairs groaning under the human weight, the rest of the furniture seemed to have no other use apart from supporting the surrounding junk. The only exception was the spindly table in the middle of the room which held a single, small golden cup.

The room was submerged in a heavy, suffocating silence which was occasionally disturbed by Molly Weasley's quiet sobs.

"Harry … Harry," she whimpered into Arthur's shoulder. "We should have protected him better. We shouldn't have let him go..."

"He's got it coming," Auntie Muriel, the owner of this peculiar room and house, opposed her indifferently while sipping from her glass of Firewhiskey. "It comes as no surprise after his preaching about You-Know-Who in every gutter press."

Ginny, who stood silently by the window, cut her eyes at her disapprovingly, before turning back to stare out of the window.

"I meant Lovegood's gutter press, of course," Muriel specified, finishing her glass.

Ron and Hermione, who sat huddled by the table, looked at each other. Hermione dropped her hand from Ron's scorched, bandaged cheek – a reminder of the dragon's power and fury. The beast helped them to escape Bellatrix and her murderous squad but they paid the price for freedom too.

"Ron, we've got to do this," she said quietly and her eyes fell at the small cup on the table. "We've got to save him – and this is our only chance."

"I know. And I also know that he wouldn't want us to do it," Ron muttered, glaring at the seemingly innocuous object on the table. "I want to save him more than anything … but if we do this, if we give up this last chance of victory, Harry will never forgive us."

"It depends...," she said with a lot difficulty, "if we can even think of the victory without him by our side..."

They both looked at Kingsley who sat close to them, staring dully at the wall ahead. When the man slowly shook his head, Ron turned back to Hermione.

"I wish I fell off the dragon instead."

But Hermione took his hand into hers and squeezed it firmly.

"We are not giving up. Leave it up to me."

xxxxx

Harry's eyes slowly fluttered open.

His head was spinning with colossal dizziness and confusion. Everything was dark, blurred and totally nonsensical at first.

He tried to hoist himself up on his elbows, but his wobbly arms didn't sustain his weight and he sank back on a surprisingly soft bed. He rubbed his eyes and nose instead, ruffling his eyebrows, then slid his hands over his face to feel the stubble on his cheeks and chin and finally ran them up to comb through his wild, messy hair. The scar on his forehead pulsed wildly, making his whole head throb in the rhythm of his heart. He pressed the cool back of his hand against it, sighing in relief.

As he lay there with his eyes closed, Harry willed himself to believe that the last days were just a nightmare. And definitely the worst one he's had so far, because being turned into Voldemort with no chance of changing back was a way beyond the usual scope of frightening dreams he had to endure on a regular basis.

Pacified to be awake again, Harry half-blindly groped after his glasses which should be somewhere on a nightstand by his right hand.

Strangely, he could find neither the glasses, nor the table.

"What the hell," he muttered, squinting his eyes to focus his poor vision a bit.

"It's under the pillow, Potter."

Harry froze in a mid-breath. His heart skipped a beat before responding with such a wild startle that he fell off the bed.

He remained splayed on the floor, unmoving, hoping - no - praying to have auditory hallucinations.

Eventually, after a minute or so, when he could no longer pretend that he successfully Disapparated into another dimension, he scrambled onto his knees furtively and began groping the bed in a hasty search for the well-known piece of metal frame and cool glass.

Just as the cold voice said, his glasses were tucked under the pillow.

He put them on, already reconciled with the inevitable. His nightmare hasn't ended yet. Its living and breathing personification stood on the very same spot by the fireplace where he lost consciousness some time ago.

Harry gulped down a couple of juicy swears and tried to use his limited peripheral vision to locate Mr. Smith and his family. They were nowhere in the sight and Harry could only hope that it wasn't a bad sign. As he surreptitiously scrutinized the room, he couldn't miss that the décor changed dramatically. The leather sofas were gone, the stone wall opposite to the fireplace miraculously transformed into a library and the undersized worktable in a distant corner could hardly be called small for any longer. The old lamp on top of it was turned on, giving the room a weak, sickly green glow.

And there was a bed, of course – Harry couldn't omit this new piece of furniture since he was still hiding behind it. Which was, by the way, a rather pointless thing to do, so he rose to his feet bravely and crossed his arms over his chest to cover up his nerves.

"Come here," Voldemort addressed him demurely.

Harry dragged his feet with indecision. Voldemort was giving him no malicious glares, no sneers or jeering and strangely enough no threats of immense torture and certain death. As a matter of fact, the Dark Lord hasn't even looked at him yet.

To say that such behaviour was unusual of him would be the understatement of the year.

Harry decided that something like that certainly deserved a further investigation. He took a step closer to Voldemort and had to stop in surprise at how naturally his body responded. He was thrilled by the way it moved in his typical unrefined manner. Being back in his own skin was a truly delightful feeling, even though he was short, blind and deaf in comparison. The rush of warm blood in his veins (not to mention the pleasure of having a nose, hair and some muscles on his bones) was worth all the sensory loss.

On the other hand, this whole situation was tremendously confusing. Harry felt the pain in his scar and caught glimpses of the Dark Lord's thoughts which assured him that the piece of Volemort's soul didn't return to the 'owner' by some miracle.

And yet, here he stood as Harry Potter again.

And he was still alive, which was even more fascinating development given the circumstances.

"I said come here, Potter," Voldemort's high voice cut through his swirling thoughts. Harry looked at him, at the unnatural pallor of his skin which seemed to produce a strange pearly glow, and dragged his feet again.

"Or do I really need to kill someone to have you properly motivated?"

Their eyes met and even though Harry knew he shouldn't be taking such risk again, he was glad he did it anyway for what he saw surprised him greatly. The red stare was menacing as always, yet it didn't hold the same homicidal coldness which he remembered from before. If he had to describe it, he would say that it contained an expression of someone who endured a heart surgery while staying fully conscious.

Distracted by that, Harry dropped his gaze to those pale, barely visible lips, which twitched repeatedly with irritation, reminding him that his contemplation was completely inappropriate and his hesitation fatally unwise. Making a quick decision to save his disobedience for later, more urgent cases, Harry begrudgingly strolled towards the fireplace, stumbling twice over the long robes he still wore.

"You will read this for me," Voldemort said when he stopped before him and handed him a small piece of a crumpled parchment.

Harry's chest tightened in fearful anticipation as he took the note and unfolded it carefully, smoothing it out with his unsteady fingers. The scrawl was neat and elegant but the symbols had, according to his best judgement, nothing to do with English or any other language Harry had ever heard of.

Voldemort, whose face was stiff like a death mask, pointed at the parchment.

"Read it," he repeated, his fierce eyes burning holes through Harry's skin.

Becoming rather desperate, Harry glanced down at the odd handwriting once again, before shaking his head.

"I don't know what it says," he said.

The Dark Lord folded his hands behind his back and turned to the fire.

"I said I can't read it," Harry repeated angrily. "I have no idea what it says!"

"Then you need more persuasion, Potter."

Harry gasped for breath, panic now pulsing in the pit of his stomach.

"I _swear_ I don't know!"

"Lies!" Voldemort hissed coldly.

Harry quickly opened his mouth to retort - and just as quickly closed it.

A sudden suspicion sprang into his mind as he looked down at the parchment for the third time. The longer he stared on it the more he recalled doodling similar symbols when he was just a little kid and uncle Vernon locked him for many long hours in the cupboard under the stairs. And later, he'd been scribbling something like that when he was particularly angry or distraught...

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, sucking in a quick breath. The meaning of the symbols began to shape into words before his eyes without any assistance of his cognizance.

And soon he knew what it meant. And he understood _why_ he knew it.

_And now he only had to accept that __Voldemort knew it too._

Harry closed his eyes in defeat. Obviously, he couldn't count on miracles forever.

"You know what it says_,_" Voldemort concluded with no trace of doubts in his voice.

Having no more reasons to deny it, Harry shrugged his slouched shoulders.

"You've invented a script for Parseltongue," he said.

"Which only I can read, Potter," Voldemort hissed, his tone harsh and cold. "Only _I_ can understand it – no one else!"

"So you've finally figured it out, eh?" Harry snorted, watching Voldemort's long, white fingers scramble in distress at the mantel decorations. "Surprised much?"

A terrifying wheeze of a deadly wounded person escaped Voldemort's lips. He pushed himself away from the mantelpiece and began to pace the room absent-mindedly. If Harry was an unbiased beholder, he would be probably amused to see how the bewitched furniture tried (mostly in vain) to avoid his path (of destruction).

"You don't understand, Potter!" Voldemort snarled at last, when his distress diminished a little. "I would have never hurt myself, if I knew..."

"But that's exactly what you've been doing up to now!" Harry snapped and winced as the pain in his scar intensified. "I can hardly complain though, since your latest attack was also the reason why I changed back. Obviously, you made that piece of your soul protect meand because of that it could no longer sustain the Polyjuice Potion magic! I guess I should be grateful because being stuck in your skin counts among the worst experiences of my life!

"Does it?" Voldemort hissed, his eyes gleaming strangely. "But even if it does, I hardly care. All I want to know is how could you possibly steal a piece of my soul without me knowing about it! Was it Dumbledore...?"

Harry, unable to help himself, burst into a bitter laughter.

"You think I _stole_ it?-! You think that I _wanted_ it? You think that Dumbledore would kindly present your soul to anyone just to make him suffer the hell on earth?-! If yes, then you should think twice, Riddle!"

"It must be the way I say," Voldemort seethed, his snake-like nostrils dilated as he breathed rapidly. "There is no other explanation."

"Isn't it?" Harry sighed, his sour amusement gone for good. "And here I thought that you actually read the Secrets of the Darkest Art!"

"How do you...," the dark wizard whispered and then he paused, baring his teeth a little. "Dumbledore," he sneered. "That two-faced hypocrite gave you the book!"

"He didn't give it to me," Harry shook his head. "He just didn't hide it from me. Anyway, if you bothered to read it carefully, you would know the reason why you are crumbing apart."

To prove his point, Harry bent down to the fireplace, took a cold cinder from its edge, pulverized it in his palm and let the ashes spill between his fingers.

"My soul is perfectly stable, Potter, if that is what you're referring to," Voldemort said, though he couldn't tear his eyes away from Harry's hand.

"Stable you say," Harry whispered. "After murdering hundreds of people... Nah, it must have shattered apart."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't feel it when the other Horcruxes were destroyed."

The Elder Wand sprang from Voldemort's sleeve, pointing directly in between Harry's eyes.

"You also didn't realize that a piece of you lives inside me. Does it seem normal to you?"

The wand dropped, but only a little bit.

"If _you_ read the book, Potter, you would know that a piece of a soul cannot be separated from the whole without a powerful incantation. It's not a spontaneous process – the wizard's intention is absolutely necessary. And I'm very sure I had no intention of making you my Horcrux!"

"You came to kill me with the intention of creating the Horcrux, right? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't a Killing Curse a powerful incantation enough?" Harry said coolly, gazing into the flaming sea of red. "Because the night you tried to kill me it rebounded upon you."

Voldemort didn't say anything to that. The flame gradually died in his eyes and for a while he simply watched Harry dully as if learning how to cope with this situation … with _this reality_.

He didn't seem to be very successful.

Harry, unable to stand the stifling silence for any longer, looked down at the parchment he still held in his hand before passing it to Voldemort, who took it reluctantly.

"By the way, I disagree with this note. Salazar Slytherin wasn't the greatest of the Four."

"A piece of my soul would never say something like that," Voldemort hissed.

"I am Harry Potter!" Harry snapped angrily. "And not just a piece of someone else! You may have a problem with that but this changes nothing for me! As the member of the Order I'll be fighting till the end!"

For those bold words he received a cold, mirthless laugh from the Dark Lord.

"Oh, will you, Potter? Are you even aware of what it truly means for _you_? Have you spared a thought of what would happen if you won? If you by any chance destroyed all my remaining Horcruxes and killed me?"

Harry, in all honesty, didn't think about it in the context of being the last Horcrux yet, but he refused to admit it aloud.

Especially when Voldemort leaned towards him with his face contorted in a pained grimace.

"I would possess you and both of us would suffer for eternity! Is that what you want?"

"No," Harry shuddered visibly as he recalled the pain he felt back in the Atrium. "I don't. I'd rather lose the duel then."

"_There will be no duel, Potter!_ I cannot kill you and you cannot kill me!"

"But we can't stay like this! There must be something...," Harry began, hating to sound so insecure, "...anything what you _can_ do."

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a long while before he composed himself enough to sound mostly unaffected.

"I tried, of course... but I can't retake it, Potter … it hates me...," he wheezed, his eyes suddenly filled with immense pain. "It refused me. It chose you over me. I cannot understand that there is a part of me that is willing to help you... That is willing to _die_..."

After hearing those words, Harry took a step backwards … and then another one. He couldn't easily comprehend the true meaning of his words A mere thought of Voldemort trying to destroy himself was beyond preposterous. Up to now, he was reassuring himself that the piece of Voldemort's soul which lived inside him had no potential of self-awareness. He based this presumption on the fact that the fragment never tried to gain control of his mind. Yet, what if the reason wasn't the lack of the ability but a full agreement with everything Harry was doing? Other Horcruxes showed more than enough potential to think of their own, so why should this piece be any different?

As if in reply to his thoughts the scar on his forehead gave a mighty throb. Whether it was a form of communication with him or a mere indication of Voldemort's labile state of mind, Harry didn't know.

"I wonder," Voldemort spoke up, his voice suddenly silky and cold, "what is it about you that I cannot provide to myself? Why does any part of me, the great Lord Voldemort, cling to you so strongly? Why should you be any special? What is it, Potter! _Tell me!_"

For once, Harry wished he had an answer. He wished he could say 'you have to do this and that and afterwards we'll both be free of this curse'. But the truth was that Harry had no idea.

"What is is about me that you don't have?" he said instead, thinking fast. "There is a couple of things I can think of … um ... I have a normal life with all its joy and sorrow … so perhaps you want to be loved and cherished by the others? Or can it be a desire for true respect and friendship? Longing for a human touch? I don't know, maybe all of that combined since those are essentials to a happy life...," he improvised quickly.

Voldemort bared his pointed teeth in a nasty grin.

"I do not desire any of that, Potter."

"Well, then you should ask that piece of your soul what does it want, because I don't know it!" Harry countered, wondering why he was starting this pointless fight which could only end up badly. He decided to credit his empty, tormented stomach which always made him peevish and impetuous.

Voldemort's mental control was slipping again; Harry could feel the fierce tugs in his scar connected to the wizard's rage and anxiety. And beneath it loads of denied anguish and lurking desires. They were protected by Voldemort's utmost Occlumency skills, squeezed and oppressed in the farthermost corner of his mind, but that only made them all the more poignant to Harry compared to the black, compact sea of cold hatred which covered the rest.

At that point Harry did the only thing which made some sense to him. For the first time he didn't recoil from the pain he felt, but pursued it instead. Immediately, the cold, invisible claws grabbed him and threw him out of Voldemort's mind, but before they could do so, Harry briefly saw the desolate emptiness of Voldemort's soul filled with nothing but the small, barely vital fragments of something which was supposed to be alive.

And then Harry finally understood.

"Potter!" Voldemort hissed, barely containing the surge of fury which threatened to overtake him. "You _dared_...!"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I shouldn't have bothered though. It's meaningless to show the truth to someone who purposely dwells on a lie. As long as you think you're all right, I cannot help you."

The Elder Wand twitched in the Dark Lord's hand, but that was where it ended. Voldemort stepped back resolutely and with a whirl of his long robes he was gone, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts in that dark, gloomy room.

_**R&R**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **Okay, I'm back with a new chapter. Contains some adult themes, but since this fic is rated M, I hope it is okay with all of you who are of a proper age and therefore allowed to read this. Also contains some hints of Harry/Ginny, but nothing excessive. Let me know what you think, if you want. Thanks!

**xxxxx**

**Bare bodies and shielded minds**

xxxxx

There weren't many things which could keep Harry's thoughts away from starvation during the lone nightly hours. He couldn't sleep; cramps in his stomach kept him awake.

To make it worse, everything reminded him food somehow, even the old, tattered books in the library wall. Chewing on their brittle parchment never sounded so inviting before. He resisted the temptation only because he knew that it would make his bellyache worse the Cruciatus Curse.

And that was still nothing compared to that mental wringer which was even more difficult to evade. It was still fresh in his memory, the horror he felt when Mad-Eye Moody told the Order that he might be possessed by Voldemort. He recalled how dirty and contaminated he felt back then, unworthy of the company of his friends. At that time, he was certain his possession explained everything from his attack on Mr. Weasley to his hatred of Dumbledore.

He couldn't be closer to the truth at that time.

And he couldn't be farther from it.

Because he wasn't possessed_ - he was Voldemort_ – or at least one part of his mind, evidently inseparable from his own due to many years of intimate coexistence.

Normally, this realization would be enough to drive him off the Astronomical Tower after Dumbledore, but if he had to be completely honest with himself … well, he couldn't say that their forced symbiosis was that bad, aside those occasional brain-splitting headaches, of course.

Actually, he received a surprisingly nice part of Voldemort's soul. Cooperative. Helpful even. There was no doubt that without a free access to the Dark Lord's mind and powers he would hardly get this far, regardless of the help of his amazing friends.

Harry scratched his scar, then rolled to the other side of the soft bed and watched the flames dance in the fireplace from beneath his heavy eyelids.

Really, that inexplicable generosity was the most confusing thing. It could be because that piece of his soul fully depended on him. Or maybe because the Horcruxes could not feel, recognize or care for one another. After all, the young Tom Riddle from the diary set the Basilisk on him without having any idea of whom he was trying to kill...

It made Harry wonder, out of pure curiosity, what would happen if he dared to look the Basilisk in the eyes that fateful night. Would he survive it? He probably would...

And what would happen if he talked to that snake? Would the Basilisk listen to him or would it still follow Tom Riddle's orders? Where would its allegiance be?

Harry snorted sourly, before closing his tired eyes.

He would really like to see Tom Riddle's expression once he realized that he was a Horcrux too...

xxxxx

For the next few days the Dark Lord avoided him like the plague. Harry didn't die of hunger thanks to Snape's reluctant help. His ex-teacher was the only one visiting him occasionally. He usually brought along some bread, cheese or fruits, sneering in sheer delight at Harry's utter dependence on him.

Still, Harry was glad even for the little food he received. He honestly didn't expect much else from someone who once again showed fierce dislike, if not open hostility towards him.

Clearly, Snape was having a problem with his return to his former appearance, with the fact that he was given a room next to Voldemort's private chambers (where he was moved a few days earlier) and also with his apparent survival which wasn't exactly according to Dumbledore's plan.

The man was convinced beyond any objection that Harry had condescended to some very immoral act with Voldemort and his highly expressive grimaces told Harry what he thought of his ability to pleasure the Dark Lord. It had to be something between being sufficiently good to be kept alive but not good enough to deserve substantial nutrition.

Only once Harry tried to put things right by providing him some rational explanation.

Snape merely scoffed at him and told him how very little he was interested in his private affairs.

_Private affairs. _

Harry could envisage him standing in front of Dumbledore's portrait, raving and ranting about his gruesome immodesty loud enough that every previous headmaster of Hogwarts could hear it.

Such a thought made him want to throttle Snape barehanded.

And then he would have to die of hunger, because Voldemort, contrary to Snape's expectation, apparently didn't plan on seeing him again in this century. And who else knew he was here?

No one except the Order of the Phoenix, which was just his bad luck, since he was locked up in the Death Eaters' den.

Soon enough though, he realized that he was quite wrong about this assumption. Snape wasn't the only one who knew of his whereabouts.

It happened the next evening, just about a week from his capture. He was sitting in an armchair by a fireplace and reading one of those dreadful books he found in his small, private library. Dark Arts or not, it was still better than hanging on the verge of a nervous breakdown or falling into a stupor from a total lack of any activity.

Still, Harry only withstood five pages of that sickly read before he slammed the book close and returned it onto the shelf. He needed fresh air. He needed to get out of this place before he went off the rails completely.

And then, as if his prayers were heard, the entrance door opened and let Narcissa Malfoy inside. Apparently, she hadn't expected to come face-to-face with him so directly, but much to her honour, she recuperated faster than Harry did.

"Here you are," she said, her lips forming a thin line as she scrutinized him briefly. The next second she turned away from him and placed the bag she carried along on the table.

And Harry just watched her, not sure how to respond at first.

"I brought you Draco's older clothes. They should fit you … reasonably," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"How come... Voldemort told you about me?" Harry stuttered out, wondering whether he should be glad or disturbed that his presence was no longer a secret here.

Narcissa's whole body jerked violently in response to that name. Her pale eyes flickered towards him, showing her fear.

"I'm here on the Dark Lord's orders, yes," she said weakly after a moment.

"And where is Snape?" Harry pressed on, watching her stiff posture.

"That is none of your concern."

Finally, she turned to him fully, but her eyes remained detached.

"Now … if you would undress," she said indifferently.

If Harry weren't so eager to shed down Voldemort's robes, he might have hesitated getting naked in front of some woman – even if she were twice of his age.

But after that unnerving experience with Bellatrix he felt that he could survive nearly anything. Moreover, Narcissa evidently had no second thoughts.

She took the robes from him wordlessly and handed him modest looking dark trousers and a white shirt. The trousers were all right aside being a bit too tight over his thighs. The shirt, however, was for someone with considerably less developed chest. He couldn't button it up around his ribs and his biceps were straining the seams of the sleeves to their utmost limits.

"Um … could you enlarge it a bit here for me?" he asked, pointing at the critical spots but she just watched him warily before shaking her head. She said nothing, obviously trying to keep their interaction at minimum.

"You can't? On whose orders?" Harry asked and answered himself right away with a quiet snort. "Why am I even asking? I bet he told you to keep your distance. That also explains why your _dear sister_ wasn't assigned to this task. She wouldn't be able to follow that order, would she?"

"That is … very likely," Narcissa said stiffly before taking the bag and turning for the exit.

Harry opened his mouth to ask for some meal, since it was unlikely that Snape would come to see him tonight, but he changed his mind in the very last second. He couldn't risk being poisoned with Veritaserum. Snape maybe hated him, but he was still the only 'ally' here who he could trust with food.

So he let her leave without another word, condemning himself to another night of starvation.

Tiredly, he sank onto the bed and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

A loud bang coming from nearby roused him some time later.

Harry hoisted himself up onto his elbows and put on his glasses hastily. Disoriented, he looked around and noticed that the door was being opened again. A second later a tall figure came tottering inside.

Harry blinked.

And then he blinked again.

The person had to be Voldemort according to the pallor of his skin which shone through the dimness of the room. But his movements were so unlike him that for a moment Harry wondered if, perhaps, someone else hadn't tried to transform into him as well.

This thought only briefly crossed his mind because soon afterward Harry noticed a nearly empty bottle of some liquor splashing in Voldemort's hand.

Confused, he slowly raised from the bed, unsure what to do.

He watched the Dark Lord come over to the fireplace and lean against it heavily. The man closed his eyes and whispered something, his breath short, loud and irregular.

"Err...," Harry cleared his throat.

Tactful as possible, he tried to point him in the right direction.

"Err...," he tried again. "Your … your room is next door I think."

For a moment it looked like Voldemort will continue ignoring him.

But then he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and turned to Harry, his fiery eyes meeting Harry's questioning gaze.

"I am _exactly_ where … I wanted to be," he said before taking another long swing from the bottle. "Potter," he added somewhat derisively.

In the weak light coming from the dying embers Harry managed to read the nearly extinct letters on the bottle's etiquette.

Firewhiskey.

And Voldemort drank it like lemonade.

Harry shuddered. He could vividly remember the burn of the alcohol on the way down his throat.

"You're drunk," Harry noted and quite unnecessarily he had to admit. But it had to be said aloud; the mere concept of Voldemort being under the influence was too preposterous to be left without a comment.

"Hardly enough, since I can still see you … know you … and know what you've done. Yet…," Voldemort said distractedly before shaking his head in an attempt to bring his thoughts back to focus.

Frustration tugged at the end of their mental link and Harry idly suppressed it, watching the Dark Lord pace back and forth unsteadily. The man came to some decision a few rounds later because he put the bottle on the mantelpiece with a quiet clink and came over to Harry.

"I've been thinking a lot and I have a … proposition for you, Potter," he said then and his slightly rusty voice slipped back into its typical coolness. "A deal if you like."

Harry forced himself to hold his stance and not to retreat.

"I'm not interested," was the only answer possible and Harry said it automatically while privately thinking that Voldemort, being in the state he was, would very likely forget everything they discussed by the morning anyway.

The man was really soaked.

The red eyes, which usually burned holes through Harry's head, were cloudy and unfocused, gazing down at Harry's almost bare chest. Standing this close to him, Harry also noticed how atypically flushed his skin was, especially on his high cheekbones.

"You've redressed...," he said distractedly.

"Yes. Narcissa..."

"I know," the dark wizard interrupted him. "How … convenient."

"Convenient?"

Harry wished he could really put a finger on what was wrong with Riddle aside the obvious.

"The thing is," Voldemort continued after tearing his eyes off him, "that I refuse to tolerate our current situation. This cannot go on … forever."

"Forever? Like metaphorically?"

When he got no answer, Harry took a step back and then another one.

"No, no, no! That's not my problem 'cause I'm normal, okay? I'm growing older like everyone else," he hurled out, willing himself to feel as certain as he sounded. Still, he felt his stomach clench under Voldemort's intent stare.

"I'm not immortal," he said resolutely.

"The piece of my soul in you does not want to be in a weak body, Potter, and your strength comes with maturity. That's why you are growing older. You could possibly reach even one hundred before you'd stop maturing, but that's the point, Potter. You would _stop_. Don't forget that gaining power is all what I strive to achieve."

For someone 'drunk as a lord' he sounded suspiciously reasonable.

Actually, his reasoning made too much sense for Harry to be comfortable with it. And though he could not simply disregard the possibility that Voldemort was lying to him, he also could not see a single reason why he would be doing that. All the Dark Lord ever wanted from him was to be dead for good and since he was still alive, Voldemort apparently had to be honest…

"Alright," he finally said, unclenching his teeth. "Let's pretend I believe you. What do you suggest?"

The Dark Lord made an involuntary gesture as if trying to grasp an invisible bottle. He fought it by clenching and loosening his fingers vigorously a couple of times.

Harry was glad that he didn't practice these moves on his neck.

"You will help me get my soul back," Voldemort finally said, pointing his long finger at Harry's forehead. "If you cooperate with me on this, I'll let you liv ... _leave_ the Malfoy Manor."

"Before hunting me down and killing me."

"Naturally."

"But I'll be free to leave in the first place?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, I'm really not buying this one."

"Your options are to believe me or..."

"...to be stuck with you forever. I get it," Harry finished, resisting the urge to palm his face. Somehow, it felt like whatever he would chose, he would lose.

Unless...

"The Muggles," he said suddenly.

The red eyes narrowed at him. Harry could feel their nearly palpable blaze.

"The Muggles?" he heard an icy hiss.

"Mr. Smith and his family."

Voldemort's gaze obtained a quality of the molten lava.

"If you are ready to let me go then you surely wouldn't mind giving them freedom as well, if I asked."

A strange sound reminding two grinding millstones interrupted the deadly silence of the room. A second later Harry realized that it was Voldemort's teeth.

"They're dead?" Harry asked, the tone of his voice almost matching Voldemort's icy quality.

"Let's say I had more urgent matters to attend to recently," the Dark Lord finally said, but his looks could definitely kill.

Harry's shoulders slumped in relief.

"Look, if their lives mean so very little to you then their insignificant existence shouldn't bother you either. Let them go home."

Certainly, this kind of amateurish psychology normally wouldn't work with Voldemort, but since the man was markedly intoxicated, his reasoning could be affected to some point.

Harry was still beyond surprise when Voldemort stiffly nodded.

For a couple of seconds he numbly waited for Voldemort to specify his conditions, but he received nothing aside that dreadful stare.

"So what do you want from me in return?" Harry asked hesitantly.

The silence prolonged unbearably.

"How are you planning to get your soul back?" Harry tried again.

When Voldemort didn't reply again, Harry was definitely confused.

It was unnerving and frustrating at once.

"Look, I'm not an accomplished Legilimens, you know?" he finally burst out irritably, making Voldemort straighten his spine a little and curl his upper lip in something akin displeasure.

"And since when you can't read my mind, Potter?" he asked and the realization hit Harry like a hammer. "I thought that's not even a problem for you."

"Well, it's definitely not my hobby, if that's what is bothering you," Harry grit out.

However, after those years of experience he didn't mind to play along that much.

He stopped resisting the thoughts of the other and searched the depths of those crimson eyes like a surgeon trying to localize the focus of infection.

And then he gasped for breath and stumbled backwards, his eyes widening like a deer's gaze caught in the headlights.

Eventually, when he regained control over himself, Harry turned away from him, willing the images out of his head, one after another.

So Snape was right, he thought as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

_Snape was right, damn it!_

"So that's how it is," he said quietly, sounding more or less composed.

"You don't appear particularly surprised or traumatized," Voldemort said softly, but in the undertone Harry could detect biting suspicion.

"I came to expect my death lately. This certainly…," he paused as an image of gloating Snape standing in front of Dumbledore's portrait flashed before his eyes again, "is more difficult to process, but hardly worse than that."

"And not just for me, right?" he added as his eyes fell on the unfinished bottle.

Voldemort copied the direction of his gaze and his lips tightened briefly as Harry could see in the reflection. He turned back to him.

"I can feel that you actually hate the idea of other person intruding your personal space. You find it … revolting, right?"

The muscles under that white skin strained as Voldemort clenched his teeth.

"So no matter how bad this situation is I guess I'm still better off than you are."

"Your poor assumptions of my feelings can be very misleading, Potter," Voldemort whispered dangerously, before regaining his cool.

"But it matters not what you think. You will see your _precious _Muggles off now and afterward we consummate our deal."

He pulled his heavy robes closer to his body and then he extended his left arm, waiting for Harry to take it.

Harry hesitated only for a second. Then he closed the remaining distance and seized that skinny armpit. It attempted to wrench away from him right away, but Harry held his grip tight until he felt the reality flip around him.

And then they were downstairs, standing in front of the door to the dungeons.

Wordlessly, Voldemort raised the Elder Wand and with the quiet snap the locking charm was released and the door slowly opened.

Harry stepped inside the familiar room, trying not to think of the memories it brought to him.

"Hello?" he called out somewhat unsurely, waiting for his eyes to adapt to a near blackness.

He heard nothing at first.

"Hello?" he tried again, following a sound of a soft whimper coming from the distant corner.

"I'm Harry Potter. Don't be afraid. You're free to go home."

Something moved in the darkness and only Harry's trained reflexes helped him avoid the fist which swung close to his chin.

In a split of a second another one was coming from the other direction.

Harry caught it and dragged the man to the stream of the light.

"You fucker!" the man snarled and squirmed his hand free.

"Stop it and look at me!" Harry yelped back and halted in the light. "Look closely, goddamnit! I'm Harry Potter and I'm telling you that you are free! So if you want to go home you'd better follow me _now_!"

"Potter?" the man muttered and Harry could hear hesitance and hope leak into his voice.

"Yes, that's right," Harry sighed.

"But then … how did you get here? No… no! You must run away! Don't wait for us! You must…!"

In that moment Voldemort stepped inside and the man seemed to sink to the verge of faintness. He wiped the sweat from his rounded face, staggering backwards.

"No… Not my family … please! Not my family."

Harry caught his hand again, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"It's all right. He knows. You are _free_."

Understanding slowly dawned upon the older man, replacing the utter disbelief.

"You … you've sacrificed for us? Why for us? You … you don't even know us … you…"

"_Please,"_ Harry stopped him by raising his voice. "We must be going!"

Getting the message, the man nodded and hurried to the darkest corner of the dungeons without another word. He spoke quietly to his wife and a couple of seconds later they both stood beside Harry, carrying their children in their arms.

And Harry led them upstairs to the dark passageway and further in to the large drawing room.

Quiet voices came to them from the other side and for the first time Harry paused and looked over his shoulder.

Mr. Smith and his wife were practically hanging on him and several feet behind them he could see Voldemort following them quietly.

Harry turned his head back and slowly continued forward.

Now he recognized that the voices belonged to a man and a woman. They seemed familiar, arguing about something he couldn't quite catch. Still, it was impossible to pass them unnoticed, especially now that the small girl began whimpering in fear, even though her father was caressing her hair and whispering soothing words into her ear.

"POTTER!"

The outcry was to be expected, especially since it was Lucius Malfoy, who wailed that upon the top of his lungs..

"Trying to escape again?" he sputtered out, running towards him while pulling out some old, worn-out wand from his cloak. "But this time I'll…!"

"Lucius," the quietly spoken word nailed the man's feet to the floor. His wife, who stopped by his side, seemed to be petrified as well.

"M…Master?" Malfoy finally stuttered out, bowing deeply to Voldemort as the Dark Lord stepped out from behind Harry and approached them. "We … we do not understand…"

"That is not required of you," Voldemort said sourly.

"Yes, my Lord," he and Narcissa whispered in union and obediently stepped backward.

Harry looked around. The rest of room remained deathly still, except that shadow which he just saw disappear behind the corner of the stairs leading to the first floor.

But maybe he was just seeing the things…

"Potter?" Voldemort hissed and Harry shook his head quickly, before leading them forth into the hallway and finally to the entrance door, which opened before he could reach for the handle. Soon the gravel creaked beneath his feet and he breathed in the fresh nightly air. There was a fountain playing somewhere behind the neatly cut hedges and he could also hear a rustle of some animal pacing restlessly along it. By the corner of his eye Harry caught the sight of a white peacock watching them curiously.

Harry prolonged his step. The wrought-iron gates were getting nearer and nearer until they were finally standing before them.

That was where Harry stopped and turned to the family. They were all watching him, terrified and hopeful.

"Do not stay in England," he whispered and Mr. Smith nodded imperceptibly.

And then the gates slowly opened with a deep, creaking sound.

"Now go," Harry said in a strangled voice.

"You … you won't be coming with us?" the woman whispered, her eyes becoming even larger in panic.

Harry just shook his head and took a step backward.

"Hurry," he said, because the gate started to close again.

"Thank you … we never forget … never…!"

Her husband nodded to him and patted his shoulder and then they ran outside and kept running all the way down the driveway, looking back at him standing behind the once again closed gates.

"Remarkable display of self-control, Potter," Voldemort spoke to him and Harry suddenly realized that he was standing by his side.

"You would have stopped me," Harry said simply. "And you might have even killed them if I tried to break out."

Voldemort said nothing to that.

They were standing side by side for a while before the Dark Lord took in a deep breath and spoke to him.

"Come now. We have some unfinished business."

xxxxx

And then the moment Harry was dreading all the evening was there.

They were back in his chambers – if Harry could call them _his_ in the first place and he would actually prefer not to do so – and they were completely alone.

And Voldemort was waiting, probably just as nervous as he was, and that was something because if Harry had to describe how he felt right now it would be something close to being eleven years old again, standing in front of the crowded Great Hall and being told to perform some extraordinary magic … _naked_.

He couldn't even imagine coming over to him and start to do, you know, _something_. Not that he didn't have a basic idea, fortunately that wasn't _that_ innocent anymore, but the butterflies in his stomach, which were tickling him lightly the first time he undressed Ginny, now turned into a whirl of furious wasps trying to bite their way out of his intestines. Harry suspected it had something to do with the sea of acid in his empty stomach.

As if a confirmation was needed, his belly produced a loud rumble.

Harry flushed from head to toe, wishing for the floor to open and eat him whole.

He clutched at his stomach, hoping that Riddle miraculously misheard the sound but according to his prominently raised hairless eyebrow Harry's hopes were in vain.

The Dark Lord relaxed a little, stiffness partly disappearing from his shoulders as he approached him.

"Other needs must be satisfied first, I see," he said with amusement.

"I'll manage," Harry muttered through teeth, dreading the possibility of being offered food he would have to refuse.

"Still fearing of being poisoned, Potter?" Voldemort said softly and snapped his fingers several times. Immediately, a small house-elf appeared before them with a quiet pop. And if Harry could assess it properly, which in the case of house-elves was a considerable problem, it was a female.

She fell to her tiny knees, shaking all over.

Voldemort didn't even look down at her.

"Bring some food and be quick about it," he said coldly and she vanished before Harry could take another breath.

"Malfoy's got a new house-elf? Finally overcame the bitterness, huh?" Harry said, still watching the place where she disappeared.

"She was ordered to kill herself if you talk to her so you may consider trying to win her over."

"She was _what_?" Harry choked out.

"Security precaution," Voldemort replied simply. "Surely not a surprising one."

Before Harry could properly explode, the house-elf returned with a large tray of scones, croissants and vegetable sandwiches and left it on the armchair by the fireplace before disappearing again as quietly as possible.

The sight of food was like a blow below the waist - all Harry's previous thoughts dissolved into a mouthful of saliva.

He gulped it down heavily.

This is going to be hard.

Especially now when Voldemort took one of those delicious looking croissants, bit off its crunchy corner and let it dissolve on his palate.

Oh, how Harry hated him. And his stomach was even more passionate about it.

"Why don't you have some? I let them bring for you," the personification of evil asked him softly.

"No, thank you," Harry managed to say through clenched teeth, before cursing himself silently for the 'thank you' part.

"I would hardly eat any if they contained the Veritaserum," Voldemort returned, the softness in his voice disappearing quickly.

"I am not hungry," Harry desperately held his own, remembering Moody's 'constant vigilance'.

Long seconds passed as they waged that silent battle of determination. Finally, Voldemort raised the Elder Wand and made Harry outstretch his hand. He placed the bitten croissant onto his palm before retracting his hand.

"Take it or leave it," he said simply.

Everyone has a breaking point and Harry certainly felt he was nearing his own. His body made a decision contrary to his will because he gobbled down that piece of pastry with an amazing speed, while wishing he could erase that knowing smirk from Voldemort's snake-like face.

"A sandwich?" Voldemort suggested and picked one from the tray.

"No," Harry said, feeling that his stomach wasn't ready for more now that it squirmed under renewed nervous tension. "Maybe later," he said, watching the pale hand drop it back on the tray.

The following silence was definitely the most daunting Harry had ever withstood. He expected Voldemort to do something, but the man just stood still, waiting for him to initiate it.

As if Harry was ready for something like that.

"We can't possibly leave it for tomorrow, can we?" he asked just to hear his own voice over the throbbing of his heart.

"That's not an option," Voldemort replied in a detached manner and Harry didn't inquire further.

"Alright," he said, turned to the fireplace and took the bottle from the mantelpiece before finishing it at once.

"Alright," he repeated after he placed the empty glass on the floor and recuperated enough from the shock of having his insides burned. His leaden legs however refused to move him towards the Dark Lord, who was watching him blankly. Harry ultimately dropped his gaze to the Elder Wand, which Voldemort was spastically clutching in his trembling fingers. That simple proof of human nerves eventually helped Harry a great deal in overcoming the distance between them.

"This doesn't have to be awful," Harry said and felt how the red eyes focused directly on his face. "It doesn't have to be. I don't want it that way and … and I think that neither do you."

Voldemort hesitated with the answer. It was that sort of hesitation drunken people do if they do not want to sound too tipsy.

"I rarely share your sentiment, Potter," he spoke and his voice sounded a little strangled.

Still, when Harry reached for first the button of his robes, which was directly below his Adam apple, Voldemort flinched back.

Harry retracted his hand fast but it was caught in the motion. The long white fingers curled around it and brought it back to the intended spot.

Taken aback by that, Harry offered no resistance.

He just stood there, dumbfounded, feeling the warmth of his fingers seeping into that cold skin.

Voldemort closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them again, they looked a little more peaceful.

"Tell me, does your scar hurt you right now?" he asked in his soft tenor and Harry found himself shaking his head. That was certainly unexpected; he wished he could think of some explanation, but his brain somehow wasn't in a state of full cooperation.

"Good. Go on."

Because excitement and anxiety was pulsing in his veins, making his head spin…

"I don't think I should…," he whispered, desperately clinging to reality.

"It has to happen, Potter. Stop fighting it."

"It's not like _you_ are trying to do something!" Harry raised his voice, meeting the angry eyes squarely.

"And here I thought you didn't want it to be _awful_," the Dark Lord sneered back.

"I…," Harry licked his suddenly dry lips, grounded by that statement. "I get it," he finally said and before he could change his mind he undid that button and pressed his lips to the base of Voldemort's neck.

Because it was just about sex, right? He will forget this later because it was nothing personal, nothing emotional, only a mechanical stimulation like wanking or…

But several things overwhelmed his mind immediately.

First was the smell, which was rather intense but not particularly intrusive or poignant. It reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest after a week-long rain. Clean and earthly smell of wet moss and fresh resin. It had nothing in common with that flowery scent of Ginny's hair…

Harry breathed it deeply, experiencing something akin a free fall or a sharp dive on his Firebolt.

And then there was that skin he was touching, white like the rarest pearls, shimmering with magic which was coursing beneath it, powerful and uncontrollable like a winter thunderstorm.

Harry moved his lips over it and felt its remarkable smoothness, a quality which was close to Ginny's perfection, if not better.

And last, there was that moan, forcefully suppressed and yet vibrating in that voice box touching his right ear.

Harry slowly lifted his head, horrified with himself.

Not because of what he just did, he didn't have much choice about that, but for what he _felt_.

And for what he was still feeling…

Can he stop now?

Can he just say this is a very wrong idea because I seem to enjoy it too much?

The large, cold hand solved his dilemma by grasping his scalp and pressing his face back into that warmed spot.

Harry gave up.

He would still forget. He could do it … he would _have to_ do it.

Eventually.

But for now, his mouth eagerly mapped the newly revealed skin as his hands clumsily fought the unfair battle with dozens of small buttons.

No, he forbade himself to head upwards, not for the lips … never for the lips. But there was still quite a spacious area remaining which could be touched and tasted.

Voldemort was so thin… Tall and thin like a skeleton coated with the most perfect complexion ever…

Harry let his hand slip under that inner robe, warming the skin he met on a way from the protruding ribs to the hard chest bone. And he was remembering how it felt to be in that body and how much he suffered of cold and how amazing it had to feel to be touched by something so warm, so human…

The panicky grip on his hair was confirming it just as the pounding of the heart right under his palm and the hitching breath in that windpipe he was trying to close by the fierce suction of his mouth.

And then he felt it, just as he dipped his tongue into that hollow between the pointy clavicles and brushed his fingertip over the hard nipple, he felt that cold, slightly chapped mouth touch his forehead hesitantly and graze over it towards his temple and back.

And Harry knew by that point that he could do it, as long as he was not forced to look up and talk and remember - he could do it…

But something else crossed his plans.

It was something he never encountered with Ginny, because females simply lacked a certain part of anatomy which was right now outrageously pressed against his abdomen.

It was like a waking call, like a cold shower in the morning or a slap over the face.

Harry gasped for breath, aghast at how wanton he sounded.

The hand which already warmed up in his hair released its grip and caught his chin instead, rising it up so Voldemort could whisper against his ear.

"Yes, boy, _**yesss**_. I'm ready now … undress ... quickly…"

And Harry realized how deeply in mess he was.

He had to freeze for a moment, because Voldemort noticed his sudden lack of response.

"Something's wrong?" he asked after he made an eye contact with him.

"I…," Harry began hesitantly, before taking in a deep breath. "I'd like to be the one doing it," he said calmly.

"Doing what?" Voldemort hissed and Harry briefly cursed the Dark Lord's crippled social intelligence which doomed him for one embarrassing explanation.

"Well … I'm a guy too," he began, trying to make it simple.

"And?" Voldemort snapped, clearly impatient about why he was being told something so obvious right now.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Well … and as a guy I have certain preferences which…"

"Can you get to the point, Potter?"

Snap.

"I don't want to take it up my arse! Is that _clear_ now?"

According to Voldemort's expression, it was. Crystal clear, actually. Luckily for the Dark Lord, his dignity didn't suffer much since he composed himself rather fast.

"I will mercifully pretend that I did not hear what you just tried to insinuate, Potter!" Voldemort snapped; his tone brittle and sharp like an edge of the knife. "Now undress and go to the bed!"

"Yeah and why should I do that?" Harry growled, anger and humiliation building inside him.

"You _should_, if you want to see your friends tomorrow!" Voldemort hissed coldly.

"What?" Harry gasped, taken aback.

"You heard me."

"Wait - my friends…"

"_You heard me, Potter."_

Harry took a step back and then another one.

"I see. So here comes the awful part, right?" he said as he started to unbutton his own shirt. "You know, for a moment I almost liked it," he added as he pulled the garment over his head. "But your absolute disregard to other people's needs had to lead to this eventually. I was _really_ silly…"

He dropped his pants right afterward, glad that he wasn't aroused anymore. He didn't want to give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing him affected.

When he was finished undressing, he spun on the heel, strode over to the bed and sank down onto it, gazing up at the ceiling.

He didn't look aside when he felt the bed dip under the new weight. He merely tensed; waiting for Voldemort to assault him, but the man simply lay down beside him and watched him in silence.

"I didn't want to be offensive," the cold voice spoke to him after a while.

Harry said nothing, pretending that the coffered ceiling was a way more interesting than Voldemort's words.

"But you must admit that your request was very inappropriate."

"Yeah, that's right!" Harry spit out his rage which still burned inside him. "I don't know why I was interested in the first place!"

"You were thinking of some girl," Voldemort said and Harry looked away, suppressing a thrill of panic.

"Lucky girl to have a lover like you."

"No, I…," Harry looked at him, catching that intense red gaze. "That was a long time ago," he said before turning his eyes back up.

"You're seventeen, Potter. It couldn't be that long."

"Months," Harry shrugged.

"Are you missing her?"

"Why…?" Harry hoisted himself onto his elbows. "Why are you so interested in my private life all of a sudden? Do you want to figure out who she is so you could find her and kill her or _what_?-!"

"I was merely surprised that you're not a virgin anymore, that's all," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes gleaming a little.

"I see, so you're angry because you couldn't steal just another thing from me! Well, obviously you are too late. I didn't want to die a virgin!" Harry sputtered out and dropped back onto the pillow.

"I would only be angry if she were a Mudblood or worse - a Muggle."

This time it was Harry's turn to grind his teeth.

"Why are we even having this conversation? Weren't you interested in _something else_ few minutes ago? I just want to be done with it and have some sleep!"

"You were interested too, Potter, because you were thinking of her. And that's the only reason why I am talking about her right now."

"I weren't!" Harry snapped before he could stop himself.

"You weren't?" Voldemort moved closer to him. "Interested or thinking of her? I think the latter, because I can still feel the evidence of your … interest on myself," he said and swiped his hand over his neck which to Harry's utter embarrassment began to show marks of his immoderate kissing.

And what was worse, Harry wished he could do it again.

He had to hold himself not to jump from the bed screaming.

"Go to hell, Tom Riddle!" he seethed, desperate to hide his secret panic attack. "As if I'm interested in _you_! The only reason why I agreed to do this is because it'll help me get rid of you and that's the only thing I really want!"

And with that Harry turned on the side, facing away from him, fully decided to ignore Voldemort for the rest of the night.

"Potter," Voldemort hissed, apparently barely controlling his fury as well. "Potter I can force you to…!"

"Yeah! Go on, force me then!" Harry snapped and afterward there was a silence.

Harry lay stiffly like that for at least an hour before his distraught mind was finally defeated by exhaustion and he fell into a deep slumber from which he was woken some time later by a strange movement on his chest.

Maybe it was a dream or just his imagination or…

"The morning is approaching fast, boy," Voldemort said as Harry choked in surprise. "And this is not enough."

The Dark Lord raised his head from Harry's chest, where he was resting it and then moved further on until he was practically lying on top of Harry, while still gazing into his eyes.

"Wh… what?" Harry stuttered out.

"It must be done … now."

"You can't just…!" Harry yelped as the body on him moved and then he felt something bluntly press against his most intimate orifice. "Are you _insane_?-!"

"Stop yelling into my ear, Potter, and stay relaxed! Or do you enjoy pain that much?"

And then all the air left Harry's lungs, because the resistance of his body was forcefully breached in a torturously slow motion.

He didn't scream aloud only because his manly pride wouldn't allow it. But he gripped the bed sheets and pulled at them with such a force that he nearly tore them apart. If Voldemort tried to move right now, Harry was sure he would wrench his head off and kick it out of the window.

But surprisingly, the man took a hold of Harry's morning wood, which still didn't have an opportunity to go away and with a practiced movement pumped more blood into it.

Harry was on fire, regardless of being enveloped by the cold sheets and body. The hand on his member was making him forget his pain, his embarrassment, himself, everything aside the pulsing pleasure which was building up inside his lower abdomen.

Mechanical … emotionless…

Those two words suddenly appeared in his thoughts as if they were imprinted on the underside of his closed eyelids.

Harry opened his eyes and turned his head to the right and in the weak morning light coming through the narrow slot in between the heavy curtains he saw the face of his … enemy?

He appeared as if he were suffering a godlike pleasure, but it could also be a hellish pain. His face was covered by tiny droplets of sweat, his eyes were closed, but his mouth was hanging open as he lost the battle to contain the sounds.

It was so tempting to bring him closer, to lick that sweat from his upper lip and let him taste it, then forget the pain which was still there, accompanying each of those powerful thrusts and simply give into the pleasure which lurked from beneath it, but seriously, who he was kidding?

Voldemort didn't care about him. Well, that wasn't exactly a truth; he in fact hated him.

He wanted him dead.

More than anyone else.

Harry let the hand, which he unconsciously raised, drop again and left it there even as Voldemort came and whispered his name in a breathless agony. Then the man slumped down on him and Harry looked away, before closing his eyes.

It was over.

_**R&R**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **Sorry for the wait guys. Many thanks to all my reviewers, you are wonderful. I hope this chapter will give you some of the answers you were waiting for.

xxxxx

**Trapped **

xxxxx

The next morning Harry was awoken by a loud tapping sound which his still dormant mind automatically ascribed to Petunia's impatient knocking on the door to his bedroom.

"Uhhh … all right, all right. I'm coming, aunt," he groaned into the pillow and searched blindly for his glasses.

A second later a cold, imperative voice interrupted his futile effort.

"Aunt?"

Recognition struck Harry like a lightning and he sprung out of the bed and found himself face to face with no one else than Lord Voldemort who was leaning against the headboard and rapping his long fingernails on it testily.

Before Harry could stutter out anything comprehensible, the Dark Lord snorted nobly - if something like that is even possible - and summoned Harry's spectacles from the crumpled sheets.

"No, Potter," he said dismissively as he handed them over. "Don't explain it."

"It's you…," Harry sighed, rubbing the sleepiness off his face. "Damn! And here I thought it was just a dream."

"Then you would be having the most peculiar dream about Lord Voldemort, indeed. Perhaps, I should have not woken you up."

Normally, a comment like that would initiate Harry's combativeness. But this wasn't a _normal _situation. Harry had to pause for a second and contemplate why the Dark Lord said what he said.

"Stop loitering and get dressed," Voldemort hissed and rapped his claws against the wood once more. "I am very nearly late because of you."

"Late for what?" Harry asked, pretending not to be curious at all as he picked up his scattered clothes from the floor.

"For something you don't want to miss either," Voldemort snapped, clearly not in a talkative mood. Briefly, he pinched the bridge of his 'nose' and Harry mimicked the motion instantly, only his hand aimed for his forehead instead.

Voldemort's hangover was truly tremendous; Harry could feel his nausea over the fierce throbbing of his scar - which also served as a mocking reminder that everything what happened last night was in vain. And now they will have to face it, although Harry was under distinct impression that Voldemort would prefer not to acknowledge it at all.

The most peculiar thing was that Harry didn't really feel as much disappointment as he should. Maybe it was because _his Lordship_ never really bothered to explain why it should have worked in the first place. Hypothetically, he could always ask Snape, who predicted this, but that guy was even more enigmatic than the Dark Lord. Besides, Harry would rather eat the Sorting Hat than describe the events of the last night to Severus Snape.

"What are you waiting for now?"

It was fascinating how easily Voldemort could draw his attention, even when speaking in the same measured voice as always. Anyway, Harry got the message instantly. He quickly buttoned up his trousers and shirt, stuffed some stale pastry he found on the tray into his pockets (which were actually much larger on the inside than they looked on the outside) and finally glanced down at his bare feet.

"Are you taking me out?" he asked as Voldemort's icy fingers caught the pit of his elbow.

"Cause I don't have any shoes," he added before the Dark Lord could admonish him for being an obstruction again.

Voldemort gave it a brief thought. Then he waved the Elder Wand and conjured a pair of black, surprisingly well-fitting moccasins directly on Harry's feet. For a moment, Harry was distinctly jealous of his skills.

"Well," he said as he squelched his envy, "You really do know some useful…"

"…stuff," he finished with mild confusion, because the Dark Lord meanwhile sent them down his super-fast teleportation rubber tube.

The change of the environs was striking. The bright morning sun was painful since Harry had his eyes adapted for the darkness of his of chamber. The blinding shine had him groaning in discomfort and rubbing his eyes furiously.

But the fresh air was delicious. It was cool and humid and generally pleasant in every possible sense. Also, having the wind ruffle his hair was a very liberating sensation. It smelled of rain, spring and freedom.

And then he heard a buzz of voices carried over to him from a short distance.

Intrigued, Harry opened his reddened eyes … and barely held in a yelp of surprise.

He stood in a corner of the biggest and most crowded car park he had seen in a while.

He glanced around quickly and saw dozens of families with kids, many young and elderly couples, a guided tour of Japanese tourists and a bunch of schoolchildren led by their teacher.

He stood there, dumbstruck and frozen to the spot, unable to handle the sheer irony of it. But his shock went much deeper than that when he realized that Voldemort, who hated ordinary people more than anything else in the world, could simply come here to kill them and improve his sour morning mood.

Before he could start panicking Voldemort reluctantly released his elbow and dove among the cars, issuing a brief command over his shoulder.

"Follow me."

Still stunned, Harry watched him march away, his black robes swirling magnificently. Taking the surroundings into an account, it was the oddest thing Harry had ever seen. He was of course tempted to head in the exactly opposite direction but a mere thought of leaving all those unsuspecting Muggles in Voldemort's nearly absent mercy eventually had him tailing after the Dark Lord.

"Why are we here?" he shouted out over the kids' screams, while trotting behind him to keep up with his fast pace.

When he got no response, he tried a better question.

"Where are we?"

Voldemort stopped so suddenly that Harry nearly ran into his back. He managed to prevent the collision in the very last moment, staggering for a while. Then he took a peek over the other man's shoulder.

The first thing he noticed was a huge blue information board announcing 'Welcome to Stonehenge'. Then, a few hundred feet behind it, he could see the tops of the massive stone blocks of the popular prehistoric monument.

Amazingly, this direct answer to his second question held his attention only for a split of a second since his instincts warned him that some sort of a crisis was developing right in front of him.

What first looked like a spontaneous gathering of Muggles now revealed its hidden cause. The three hooded figures which stood behind the crowd were neither the mascots nor the advertising guys as Harry first thought.

They were wearing masks.

They were Death Eaters. And they were probably using the Muggle-repelling charms since not a single person dared to invade a fifteen feet perimeter around them.

Lastly, but not least importantly, they were blocking out the road to the ticket office, confusing the Muggles who were desperately trying to find an access, but could not see it. Irritation was growing exponentially on both sides.

"You must be kidding me," Harry snarled, bypassed the Dark Lord and squeezed his way through the throng.

"Hey!" he blustered out at the most furiously arguing guys when he got near the centre of the tumult.

"This way! You must go this way!"

But no one was listening to him. So he grabbed the collar of the tallest guy and shook him.

The man was shaken for sure.

Still, he could not see Harry.

Pissed off to the utmost level, Harry shouldered his way out, heading right towards Voldemort, who in the meantime joined his followers. When Harry saw them kotow to him humbly, it only added steam to his fury.

"What the fuck have you done to me?!" he bellowed at top of his lungs, pointing his finger threateningly at the Dark Lord.

"Why none of the Muggles can see me?!"

Voldemort cut his livid red eyes at Harry. His follower cringed even more as if afraid of punishment for Harry's outburst.

Harry's stomach coiled with nerves, cooling down his rage significantly.

Nevertheless, he wasn't ready to lose his posture yet.

"Well?" he asked, feigning impatience.

Voldemort fingered the Elder Wand in his sleeve, but then he changed his mind. He watched Harry curiously for a moment before speaking to him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are foolishly brave, Potter?"

Slightly taken aback, Harry hesitated.

"I don't know…," he said.

"Anyway, I placed a Muggle-repelling charm on you too. No need for you to make new _friends _just now," Voldemort said with detestation, "since you'll be seeing the old ones in a matter of hours."

That statement left Harry speechless with utter thrill and amazement. He stared at Voldemort as if he grew a third eye.

"Let's proceed," the Dark Lord turned to his Death Eaters before taking a quick glance back at stunned Harry. "I must not frustrate my _conscience_ any longer."

Watching his receding back, Harry soon shook off his shock and sprinted out to catch up with him.

"You…," he gasped when he finally reached his side. "…you were serious about our agreement?"

"Apparently," Voldemort hissed sourly.

Harry could not miss his glum grimace and it made him think. Voldemort definitely had to have some ulterior motive why he was doing all this. Something strange was going on here - something Harry wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to know. On the other hand, to believe in Tom Riddle's benignancy would be the same as to believe that Bellatrix's sole dream was to take loving care of desolate blind Muggle orphans.

Still, Harry doubted that Voldemort was contriving some evil plans right now. If he did, he would boast about it, he would sneer at Harry's helplessness to stop him and he would give him all the nasty details, just as he did the night when he returned to his power. He would certainly not look like a man sitting in a dental chair and waiting to have all his teeth extracted.

"Can we talk in private?" Harry said quietly enough so the Death Eaters ahead wouldn't hear him.

"No."

Harry was prepared for this answer and he didn't let Voldemort brush him off that easily.

"It didn't work," he hissed under his breath. "We both know it. Therefore, I am surprised … _very pleasantly_ surprised that you're sending me home."

When he got no response, he pressed harder.

"Why are you doing this? You act like someone who doesn't have another choice!"

Voldemort halted and turned to Harry, watching him in silence. The intensity of his glare insinuated that any attempt to continue in this would be a grave mistake.

"Dolohov!" he snarled then and one of the Death Eaters ahead faltered in his step before returning quickly to his master.

"Yes, my Lord?" he asked breathlessly.

"Potter's your responsibility until I return. But let me warn you – any harm that happens to him happens to you as well. Only ten times worse. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Master," the man wheezed out and bowed to him deeply.

Voldemort Disapparated the next instant, leaving Harry in a rather unpleasant company of another serial killer.

"Fantastic," Harry sighed. He could see Dolohov's dark eyes turn to him behind the mask and he looked away, folding his arms over his chest.

"So we meet again, Potter," Dolohov spoke gleefully over Harry's apparent dismissal. "You thought you'd be escaping the Dark Lord forever, didn't you?"

"Strange," Harry said stoically, stretching his back a little since it became rather stiff with cold. "I thought that I was brought here to 'escape' him again."

The dark eyes narrowed into slits, watching Harry intently, before finally turning towards the green ticket booth and souvenir shops swarmed by Muggles.

"That's Bellatrix's fault," he said and then he chuckled darkly. "She is so desperate about it. She's trying to make it up for the Dark Lord, but he does not forgive easily."

"What happened?" Harry asked as casually as he managed, though inside he was burning with curiosity.

"As if you don't know, Potter," Dolohov said acidly. "You were there after all."

Harry bit his lower lip, quickly skimming his memories for all encounters he had with Bellatrix Lestrange. It wasn't that difficult; they were all quite memorable. But none of them could explain what was happening right now.

"Filthy Muggles," Dolohov interrupted his muse with a snort. He seemed to be disgusted by watching the commotion ahead.

"I wouldn't mind to kill two or three right now. But the Dark Lord's orders are clear; he doesn't want the Ministry to interfere."

"I thought that the Ministry belongs to him," Harry noted, trying to read the other man's expression behind his mask.

"Of course it does. It's the information leakage he's worried about."

"Humph. It still doesn't make much sense to me. The Order of the Phoenix certainly knows about it since they are supposed to come here."

"Unless the Dark Lord wants to set a lethal trap on them in secret," Dolohov said in an awful, jeering voice.

Harry could feel fear rippling through him. Yet he managed respond with an emotionless, dry voice.

"Wouldn't that be really difficult with hundreds of Muggles around? They may not see us, but I'm pretty sure they would notice if they started to _die_ all of a sudden. In my opinion, Voldemort chose this place because it would be very difficult, if not impossible, for the Order to entrap _him_."

"Don't say his name!" Dolohov sputtered out and instinctively caught his covered forearm.

"It's no longer a Taboo," Harry noted, looking around for Snatchers.

"Of course not! The Dark Lord knows about your liking in saying his name aloud and he doesn't want to be bothered by those lowlifes all the time. Moreover, he would never be outsmarted by someone as pitiful as your foul-blooded friends, Potter!" he retorted then and grasped Harry's wrist forcefully. The next instant he Apparated them among the majestic stones of the monument.

Then he pushed Harry away and stopped talking to him entirely.

Harry didn't mind at all; he sat down into the grass, leaned against one of the stones and pretended to watch the unique scenery while thinking hard.

The lack of his insight was very discouraging. He wondered what reason could possibly force Voldemort to do all of this. And what had Bellatrix to do with it?

Harry closed his eyes, recollecting all that he had seen and heard. The more he remembered, the less sense it made. He couldn't find any connection no matter how much he tormented his mind.

The sun was moving slowly over the sky and as the shadows prolonged, Harry ultimately realized how hungry he was. He pulled out the few stale scones from his pocket and ate them all with secret hope that none of them was poisoned.

The number of the Muggle tourists began to decrease during the last hour. The sun was now hanging near above the horizon and Harry shuddered; even though he refreshed himself and stretched his limbs, he was still cold. He wondered if Dolohov would mind if he tried to look around. He decided to try it and see. However, he only made it past the first stone gate when he saw Voldemort again.

His heartbeat immediately quickened and his whole body stiffened.

The Dark Lord was back and he was talking to Bellatrix now – or, more specifically, she was talking to him. Harry listened with bated breath, trying to catch her words.

Alas, no luck. They were too far away and Harry idly realized how much he was missing Voldemort's greatly enhanced senses.

Still, the mere sight of them was grating on his nerves. Especially Bellatrix was driving him crazy. Harry simply couldn't stand the way she was gazing at him adoringly, the way she was stroking her breast provocatively and all her lascivious, fawning smiles. It was so lame and pathetic of her – she still may be a woman, but in that moment Harry wanted nothing more than to tread on her leering face.

It disturbed him that he actually felt better when Voldemort dismissed her coldly and walked away.

She looked around, her expression a display of disappointment.

And then she caught Harry's gaze.

Harry looked away quickly, but she already saw him and set out in his direction. The bile rose into Harry's throat. He remembered her triumphant scream when she killed Sirius; he remembered Dobby's blood on his hands, Neville's poor parents not recognizing their son and Hermione's screech of utter torture…

"My, my… What do we have here?"

And here she was, speaking to him in her favourite mock baby voice which Harry despised the most.

"Little Potter decided to join us for the evening! He obviously wants to watch more of his friends die. I shall make sure he won't be disappointed!"

"I won't be, Bellatrix," Harry hissed coldly through his teeth. "You'll be the first to bite the dust."

Her long since beautiful face darkened and she leaned closer to him.

"I really doubt so," she whispered, licking her upper lip slowly.

"That's enough, Bellatrix. Step away."

Dolohov approached them, clearly less than happy with her being here.

"Stay out of this," she said dismissively, barely paying him attention. "This is between Potter and me."

"I don't think so."

The man drew out his wand and removed his mask. His stone-like face showed fierce resolution.

"Oh, my my! Potter's got a new protector. How … _lovely_," she sang.

"I am doing this on the Dark Lord's order!" Dolohov snarled. "And as you know very well, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord's word is a _law_."

"I don't need your protection," Harry retorted, his fury overruling everything else. "Not from her, anyway."

Bellatrix whirled back, her face tinted with flurry.

"Oh, but you do, Potter, because I'm going to show you the true depth of the Cruciatus Curse. I was told that you only had a little taste so far. This will change soon. I'll make you suffer for what you've done to the Dark Lord!" she hurled out, her voice losing the mocking tone and achieving a sharp edge instead.

"I have no idea why he no longer wants you dead. I would kill you - all he has to do is ask. I would drive you out of your mind. I would torture you to death. It would possibly take days but I would do it for _him_ with pleasure!"

Could this totally sick obsession still be called a love? Harry doubted it; he's never been so disgusted.

"Only he doesn't want you," he rebutted, satisfied at how deeply he afflicted her by that simple statement.

"And you know it, don't you? He wants your powers but he is not interested in _you_, even though you spent years and years dreaming about him every day and night, right? Have you ever wondered, Bellatrix, why that is so?"

Harry leaned his head closer to her pale face, his lips barely moving.

"What makes you think that he prefers women?"

Delighted by her horror, he continued.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I figured it out?"

"Y-you…," she wheezed out, unable to catch breath. _"I'll kill you!"_

She brutally pushed him away and her Cruciatus Curse hit Harry straight into his chest. The pain was beyond insane, scorching him to the core, but fortunately it lasted only for a few seconds. When he came back to senses, he was lying on his back, gasping for breath and twitching in spasms. Slowly, he rolled to his side and watched a wild argument between Bellatrix and Dolohov. Just when it seemed that their wands will do the talking, they both stopped short and dropped to their knees in union.

A second later Voldemort stepped out of the shadow, wand in his hand.

"Dolohov … what are you doing?" he hissed, his voice teeming with malice.

Harry quickly scrambled to his feet, whisking dirt and dry straws from his clothes.

"It's not his fault!" he said quickly. "Nothing happened. I just had a _friendly_ conversation with Bellatrix."

Voldemort turned to him, his nostrils flaring with agitation.

"I heard you scream," he pointed out sharply.

"Oh … yeah. I cannot help it whenever I see her."

"My Lord," Bellatrix got up in rush, keeping her head bowed. "Potter spoke very insultingly of you. I had to punish him."

Voldemort turned to her, his posture growing even more rigid, if possible.

"Really?" he said softly. "And what did he say?"

"He…," she looked at him and then quickly glanced away. "He…"

"Well?"

Harry knew the reason for her hesitation. Bellatrix was terrified that what he just told her could be in fact truth. That was something she wouldn't be able to stand with the remains of her sanity intact.

"I merely informed her that you like me better than her. She threw a fit," he clarified before she could come up with some lie.

Voldemort looked at him, his face unreadable.

"And what could possibly give you that idea, Potter?" he asked even more softly.

"Well, last night…"

"Last night _what_?" he whispered. "It seems that you fairly misunderstood something, boy."

"Really?" Harry returned sharply, folding his arms over his chest as a new wave of cold washed over him. Taking a deep breath, he looked Voldemort directly into his scarlet eyes.

"Well, in my opinion, it is you who fairly misunderstood something. And that's what left us stuck the way we are."

"M-my Lord? You let him speak to you like that? I will…," Bellatrix gasped out.

"You will do _what_?" Voldemort snarled, cold rage growing exponentially in him and refocusing on the dark haired witch.

Harry didn't stay there to watch what will happen. He strode away, leaving Voldemort to punish her whatever he liked. Now he regretted that he didn't use a chance to break away throughout the day. He was just so obsessed with need to figure out what exactly happened between him and Voldemort and what was the meaning of his being here that it didn't even occur to him to try to do something.

He knew better now, didn't he? It was beyond his understanding why he was, even for the tiniest moment, imagining other possibilities than this one. Seriously, what was wrong with him?

His body began to shake violently and he couldn't stop it. He gritted his teeth as hard as he could but they were still chattering.

"Potter."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't even look at him.

A warm blanket that suddenly appeared around his shoulders made him stiffen with surprise. He turned around and saw Voldemort approaching him slowly.

"I don't need it," he said slowly, refusing to feel grateful. "I felt a lot worse when I was in your skin."

"I can imagine."

Harry turned away from him, resuming his observation of the darkening landscape in silence.

"I think you wanted to talk to me, Potter."

Harry's throat narrowed but on the outside he just shrugged, looking down at his black shoes.

"Not anymore. You won't tell me the real reason why I am here so I won't bother to ask. I was also a bit confused about … yesterday but now I have a pretty clear idea what went wrong."

"Have you?" Voldemort whispered sarcastically. "Then you're the only one. I cannot explain that failure. I did everything according to the instructions."

Harry looked up at the Dark Lord with sheer disbelief.

"_Instructions?_ Wait a second. Let me get this straight – did some mighty ex-dark lord write a _book_ about how your dick in someone else's arse can help you retrieve your soul? Well … wow, I didn't know it was supposed to be that easy."

It was impressive how quickly Voldemort could pull out his wand and press it against Harry's breastbone. Harry practically didn't see the movement.

But the searing pain in his scar nearly split his head in half and Voldemort's freezing voice made it even worse. It pierced Harry's brain like a knife while he was fighting the surges of nausea.

"Sex creates the most intimate bond between two people!" he hissed cruelly.

Harry staggered and swallowed heavily.

"It's … it's not that simple," he managed to reply, trying to recuperate a bit.

"Quite the contrary, Potter! It is very simple. I asked your permission and you agreed. And no one can say that it wasn't mutual, even you can't deny that," he said, pulling away his high collar a bit to show Harry a large purple bruise at the base of his neck.

"I fulfilled the conditions. It should have worked!"

"Oh, I see… That's why you wanted me to initiate it," Harry said, more or less composed again. He pressed the cool back of his hand against his burning scar and sighed.

"Anyway, you clearly forgot the most important condition of all."

Voldemort opened his mouth to retort but then he rolled the Elder Wand in his palm with indecision. Finally he lowered it from Harry's chest, allowing him to breathe freely again. There was a slight hesitation, the first hint of uncertainty in those deep red eyes.

"What condition?"

"Affection. We shared nothing, Tom. Tell me, how do you want to create an intimate bond with someone you hate? With someone you want dead? That's a crazy contradiction!"

Something flashed in Voldemort's eyes but it was gone before Harry could identify whether it was surprise or dawning understanding. Then the Dark Lord looked away, caressing the Elder Wand mindlessly with his long white fingers.

Harry shook his head and pulled the blanket closer to his body.

"I may have thousands of reasons for hating you," he said a moment later, "but I didn't start this. You did. You came into the house of my parents, you killed them and you tried to kill me as well even though I was just a baby. I don't get it, really. If you believed in that goddamn Prophecy so much, why couldn't you just wait until I was older and see if I truly meant a threat? What is it about me that you hate so much?"

The spidery fingers flexed on the wand's smooth surface.

"It's not that personal, Potter. At least not as much as you think…"

"I find it very hard to believe that."

Voldemort took in a sharp breath. His gaze became slightly unfocused, as if he were watching something appalling approaching him from a mid-distance.

"You're like destiny I can't escape."

"Sounds quite personal to me," Harry whispered, following the direction of his gaze. "So you are afraid of me, aren't you? That's where all this hatred stems from. You're afraid."

Voldemort looked at him, completely taken aback at first, but then he burst into a terrifying, cold laughter.

"What childish dream you're living in, boy? Afraid of _you_? You're no match to me!"

"Well, I don't think it is necessary my magical skills you fear."

"What then?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged again, scratching his scar mindlessly.

"But damn…," he sighed. "I must be really gruesome."

"Gruesome," Voldemort repeated after him and tilted his head aside a little, considering it. Harry expected him to laugh again, but he didn't. He remained silent and Harry found himself staring at his big pale hands, which would be disproportionally large to anyone else's body but his. And then he couldn't stop his eyes from glancing up at Riddle's strange facial features, which made so many people cringe in terror. Harry, however, could not bring himself to describe his face as something repulsive. There was something strangely fascinating about Lord Voldemort - in a rather morbid way, of course. It was making his stomach queasy.

"You cannot be really gruesome, when you don't mean to harm anyone," Voldemort finally said, looking back at him.

"Meaning that I was … towards you."

Voldemort paused, watching him strangely.

"This is a war after all," he said then.

"Yeah … this is a war."

Harry didn't even try to hide bitterness in his statement. A civil war was the worst of all since it was often the relatives who killed each other for different beliefs and opinions. And Voldemort's hatred of Muggles and Muggleborns was a driving force in this one. Did it really have to end this way?

A long strained silence followed, filled with nothing but the sound of their breaths and a mutter of distant conversation. Harry saw more Death Eaters now - ten or twelve - he couldn't tell the exact number. Most of them were casting some spells or discussing the plan Harry knew nothing about.

"We still have more than twenty minutes left," Voldemort finally broke it and looked down at Harry. "We might as well give it another try if you tell me what exactly I am supposed to share with you."

Harry gasped. He didn't know whether he should laugh, cry or simply gape at him. It was impossible to determine what perplexed him more; whether the point-blank proposal of further illicit activities or the noncommittal voice which accompanied the suggestion.

"You mean here?" he asked derisively when he got over his initial surprise. "With Bellatrix watching? Well - no, thanks. I much rather go home and forget this ever happened. Besides, I'm pretty sure one misunderstanding a day is quite enough."

"So you're ready to stay like this."

"Not quite."

"Then why don't you ….," Voldemort flexed his digits with exasperation as he was forced to say the next word, "…_help_ me?"

"You don't really get it, do you?" Harry snapped, before running his fingers though his hair. "As long as you don't know what to do by yourself, as long as you have to ask _me _what to feel, as long as you have to read _manuals_ and follow _instructions_, I cannot help you."

"Even if I wanted to, of course," he added quickly. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

"Mistake you say," Voldemort said sourly. "Surely not as big as the one you're going to do by returning _home_. I suggest you to think twice about it because I cannot save you both!"

"Save _who_?"

Harry was lost. Did Voldemort just give him a clue to this mystery? If yes, it wasn't very helpful.

"I have a question for you, Potter. Try to answer it honestly. Are you sure that your friends love you more than they hate me?"

Harry didn't even try to hide his confusion.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it."

"Y-yeah," he said, disturbed. "Yeah, I think so."

"And can you say that about every member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Just what are you trying to achieve by asking me…? Hang on," Harry said as understanding suddenly dawned on him. "You fear that they will kill me the moment they learn that a piece of your soul resides inside me, right?"

When Voldemort didn't answer, Harry shook his head.

"They wouldn't do that," he heard himself whisper.

"So you think that their blind belief in the Chosen One," Voldemort said mockingly, "is stronger than their raw desire to eliminate a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul."

"Eliminate a piece…," Harry muttered quietly, his eyes becoming wider with deepening realization.

"Oh Merlin … it's the cup!" he choked out. "They still have Helga's cup! What if they didn't destroy it? What if they want to … what if they want to exchange it … for me," he whispered, horrified. "I bet they threatened you with its destruction – and now you have to give up one Horcrux in order to obtain another! That's why you said you cannot save us both! You meant me and the cup! Also … I can finally see how this is Bellatrix's fault…"

Harry took a step backwards, feeling rather overwhelmed.

"I see why you were so desperate to retrieve that piece you out of me."

Harry pointed at himself before curling his fingers into a fist.

"If you succeeded, you would have all your Horcruxes under your protection again … and you could kill me right away!"

He laughed out, loudly and bitterly, before slamming his fist into the cold monolith by his side. So this was the benignancy of Lord Voldemort. This was the answer he was searching for.

"I'm sorry Riddle," he forced out from his constricted lungs. "I think your plans are doomed to fail."

The silence which followed was the most oppressive Harry had ever withstood. But when Voldemort spoke to him again, he took Harry by surprise.

"Isn't it a bit arrogant of you, Potter," he uttered coldly, "to believe that you know everything about me better than I do?"

The moment he said it Harry had to admit that he might be right. In his excitement to finally reveal the truth, he didn't mind to make a couple of brash conclusions, especially since they all fitted in his scheme perfectly.

Their eyes met and Harry's stomach clenched again. Something was hanging in the air, something Harry couldn't quite pinpoint, yet he was perfectly aware of it. One part of him was nagging at him to apologize while the other was telling him that he had nothing to apologize for.

"Perhaps I misunderstood something again?" he said instead.

"Perhaps," Voldemort replied, keeping their eyes locked.

Unable to stand it any longer, Harry dropped his gaze to his neck, taking notice of that purple contusion there. Memories flooded him at that sight.

He tried to chase them away but…

"Why didn't you heal that bruise?" he asked, feeling suddenly very hot for no apparent reason.

Slowly, he took a step closer, giving in his sudden desire to inspect it.

Voldemort drew in a sharp, surprised breath, but he didn't stop him.

"It must hurt," Harry heard himself speak, barely aware of how his rationality was melting away like a snowflake in a flame. He raised his hand and touched his neck lightly and it made his scar pulse wildly but it was not an unpleasant feeling. The pronounced Adam's apple jumped under his fingertips.

The quick breath fanned the back of his hand and he realized how unexpectedly moist and warm it was…

And the wide red eyes, which were so alien few moments ago, expressed the most basic desires of any man now. Harry could feel them all the way down to the bottom of his soul. He could easily identify with that crushing loneliness and need of a companion…

"My Lord!"

Harry jerked his hand away fast, refusing to believe what he just did.

Was he brainwashed or something?

But Voldemort's furious hiss drew his attention to back him. The man whirled around, his black robes swirling, and he pointed his wand at the intruder.

"_Crucio!"_

The Death Eater dropped to the ground and his desperate screams resonated among the massive stones, growing in intensity second by second.

"That's enough!" Harry said, but Voldemort ignored him.

"I said that's enough!" he repeated more loudly and caught the Dark Lord's armed hand.

Voldemort wrenched away from him, turning the wand against him.

Harry's breath died in his windpipe. He raised his hands a little, waiting.

No curse came out.

Only the Death Eater's moaning was interrupted by distant cracking sounds accompanying Apparation.

"Macnair," Voldemort finally said, his crimson eyes still glued to Harry. "Go and fetch Draco Malfoy. Now."

The Death Eater rose to his feet, still shaking.

"Of course, Master," he whispered and disappeared in the shadows.

"It seems your friends just arrived," Voldemort whispered then, lowering the wand. "By the way, do not ever cross this boundary again, Potter," he added in a tone that considered this matter closed.

Harry silently agreed. He didn't know what reckless impulse made him risk his life for a nasty Death Eater.

A moment later three hooded figures approached Voldemort and bowed deeply.

"I believe I asked only for Draco and not the entire Malfoy family," Voldemort said derisively, not even bothering to look at them. "Lucius, Narcissa - leave."

Harry saw how the couple exchanged a terrified glance before slowly backing away.

Draco sank to one of his knees, visibly unnerved. He was gulping quickly and his skin was almost as pale as Voldemort's. Harry also noticed that he looked thinner than before, although he was wearing a thick black robe.

"I have a task for you, Draco," Voldemort spoke to him quietly. "A task in which you must not fail."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco breathed out in a barely audible voice.

"You will accompany Harry Potter to the meeting point where you will be given a small box from one of the members of the Order. You will open the box and inspect the golden cup inside for any damage. You will also verify its authenticity. Failing to do so would lead to a very severe punishment."

"I un-understand, my Lord," Draco stuttered out weakly.

"If the cup will be missing, damaged or a fake, you will notify me immediately."

"Of course, Master."

"Now look at me."

Draco's whole face froze in terror. But he didn't dare to disobey. Slowly he lifted his chin and met Voldemort's eyes.

"Now you know how it looks like," Voldemort said after a moment. "You must be absolutely sure that the cup is what they proclaim it to be. Only then you will allow Harry Potter to…," Voldemort paused, giving Harry a meaningful look, "…leave."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Go now."

Draco got up and with his back still bent he retreated slowly.

Harry made a step to follow him, but Voldemort caught his wrist.

"_**Tell them that you want to stay,"**_ he hissed quietly, urgently.

Harry hesitated for a second and then looked up, his face expressionless.

"_**Goodbye,"**_ he whispered and freed his hand.

He set forth to follow Draco but eventually he looked back.

Voldemort was gazing away, his face blank, but Harry _knew_ it was just pretence. He shared his emotions and felt like someone whose heart was just wrenched out of his chest.

Harry didn't understand it.

Could Tom Riddle really be this strongly attached to a piece of his soul? He didn't seem to be this aware of his other Horcruxes. Otherwise he would hardly leave them alone in a dark cave, vault, shack or on a dusty shelf…

"Come on, Potter!" Draco spoke to him harshly, breaking into his thoughts. "Everyone's waiting."

Harry nodded stiffly and decided that whatever Voldemort's reason was, it shouldn't matter to him. He will see his friends soon and that knowledge erased the bitterness on his palate.

He followed Draco until they came to the very edge of the inner circle of the massive stones. It was very dark already, but Harry could still recognize some outlines of bodies hiding all around.

Draco halted for a moment. He looked to the left where Harry could see his parents, who were ready to strike if anything went wrong.

Licking his dry lips, Draco pushed Harry in front of him pressing the tip of his wand between his shoulder blades.

"Go, Potter," he commanded quietly.

Harry set forth without another hesitation. He walked towards the other side until Draco told him to stop.

They stood exactly in the middle of the circle, waiting.

"Potter's here!" Draco eventually called out then. "Bring me the cup now."

At first nothing happened but then two tall figures separated themselves from the shadows, heading towards them.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He was so excited and eager to recognize them.

The first was a tall, lanky young man. His red hair looked particularly strange in a weak light, and his long nose was surely covered with freckles…

"Ron!" Harry yelped with excitement. He had to hold himself off from sprinting towards him.

"Harry!"

His best friend waved at him from a distance.

"He's alive!" he called out happily. "Harry's alive!"

"We don't know it yet. He can be an impostor."

Harry recognized Kingsley's deep voice in an instant and his smile grew wider.

"It's so great to see you again," he said, taking a step towards them, but Draco pushed him back.

"Where's the box?" he asked impatiently and Harry detected a trace of panic in his voice.

"It's here," Kingsley said and pulled it out of his robe as he stopped in front of him. Nevertheless, he didn't place it into Draco's waiting hand.

"First," he said, "we need to be sure that this is really Harry Potter."

"Just give me a wand," Harry said quickly, "and I'll conjure my Patronus."

"That would be very unwise," Kingsley said slowly and Harry understood his point. Giving a wand to a potential Death Eater in this very dangerous situation could easily be the last thing he would ever do.

"If you really are Harry Potter…," Kingsley continued, "…you won't mind to drink this."

He pulled out a little vial, offering it to Harry.

_Veritaserum._

The very thing Harry feared the most during his captivity.

His stomach lurched at the possibility of Kingsley asking him to tell what exactly Voldemort did to him. He would eventually describe the events of the last night and Ron and Draco would be listening...

Harry's shaking hand stopped just an inch from the offered vial. What was his other option? If he won't drink it, his friends would think that he was a polyjuiced Death Eater and that this was a trap and then they would try to kill him or worse, they would leave without him.

That decided it.

He had to do this. He had to risk it.

"Don't worry, mate," Ron whispered encouragingly. "Just few routine questions."

Harry took the vial, uncorked it and drank the content before he could change his mind. It was just few bitter drops, but the effect was immediate. It reminded Harry of the Imperius Curse, only stronger, and unlike that forbidden magic, he was still aware of himself. Yet he wouldn't mind to tell everyone that he pissed his bed at the age of eight if they asked.

"What is your name?" Kingsley asked and Harry grinned at him stupidly.

"Harry James Potter," he said.

"Are you a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Well, Dumbledore never officially named him, but that was mostly because he didn't have an opportunity. He died before Harry was old enough to become one of them. But he always wanted to be one and that was also what the said aloud.

"Yay!" Ron yelped, already celebrating.

"Did you…," Kingsley began, but then he changed his mind. "Were you forced to betray the Order?"

Harry had to think about it for a second. Curiously enough, Voldemort wasn't interested in the Order at all.

"No. Voldemort relies on the information he gets from Snape," he said simply.

Ron and Kingsley exchanged disturbed looks, but none of them commented on it.

"All right, one last question," Kingsley said, apparently wishing to be done with this. Harry didn't understand why; he only started to enjoy it.

"Why You-Know-Who didn't kill you?"

"Because he would kill himself," Harry said immediately. "Partly," he added as an afterthought. "The thing is that…"

"All right! That's enough." Kingsley stopped him, giving him another vial quickly. "Drink this."

Harry obeyed without any protest, feeling how the veil was instantly lifted off his mind.

He looked at the faces of his friends, trying to read in their expressions.

"W-what did I say?" he stammered out nervously.

Ron took a step closer to him and then another one.

And then he hugged him.

"Harry," he breathed out.

"We missed you so much."

"Stop it Weasley," Draco sputtered out. "You're so sentimental it's ridiculous. Now give me the box! _He _wants the box!"

"Take it, Malfoy," Kingsley said, handing it over. "I wonder why he sent you and not someone more … _dangerous_."

"Apparently, he wants this to go smoothly," Harry mused, while Draco quickly opened it and inspected the content. Ron winced a little.

"A dangerous Death Eater would increase a risk of fight," Harry continued, unaware of Ron's growing discomfort.

Draco cast a few spells and finally he seemed satisfied.

"You see, Draco," Kingsley said calmly. "It's authentic and in a perfect condition. You can take it to your Master now."

Relieved beyond any description, Draco smiled.

"All right. See you later, Potts," he smirked and reached out to take the cup from the satin cushion.

"Don't."

Ron said it so quietly, that Harry almost misheard him.

But he didn't … and neither did Draco.

The young Death Eater froze on the spot, his eyes shooting from Harry to Ron to Kingsley and back.

"W-what?" he stammered. "What's wrong?"

If he didn't ask that, Harry was sure that he would.

"Nothing," Ron said quickly, but he didn't sound very convincing.

"Something's wrong with it, isn't it?" Draco whispered, losing the colour from his face.

"He's gonna kill me," he muttered, taking a wobbly step backwards. "He's gonna kill me for sure."

Harry couldn't stand the pressure any longer.

"What's going on here, Ron?" he asked, angry and unnerved.

"We must go, Harry," Ron whispered, taking a hold of his hand a dragging him away.

"No, wait! I need to know what…!"

"_I knew it!"_

An icy, enraged voice interrupted Harry, chilling him to the bone. It was as if an army of Dementors just emerged right behind him. He turned around stiffly and saw Voldemort materialize out of the thin air. It wasn't an Apparation. He had to be using the Disillusionment Charm which meant that he had to be somewhere close all the time. Ron gave out a squeak of terror.

Voldemort's pale face was livid.

"I knew that the Order would try to trick me somehow!"

Deciding this counted as a crisis, Harry forgot his rationality and reacted on instinct. He pushed the blanket off his shoulders, whipped the box out of Draco's stiff hands and sprinted out. His mental processes were reduced to a thought that if Voldemort followed him, he wouldn't have a chance to hurt his friends.

Harry had no idea what was wrong with the cup. The only thing he knew was that whoever touched it would suffer terrible consequences.

And then the screams reached him; curses were flying everywhere, one of them burning his shoulder nastily, another blasting the massive stone apart. But Harry was determined to carry on. The first circle of the stones was just a couple of meters away. He ducked his head and took a sharp turn to the right.

And then his thoughts scattered under a surge of horrible, intolerable pain. He yelled at the top of his lungs and dropped to the ground, writhing in those bone-breaking spasms again.

After several excruciating seconds the pain receded a bit and he heard a loud, high-pitched laugh.

"Who was the one to bite the dust, Potter?" Bellatrix sang, dancing around him. "Was it you, or was it me?"

Harry opened his eyes and tried to locate the box.

Alarmed, he realized that it was open. He must have smashed it when he dropped it… Fighting against his pain, Harry raised his head a bit and saw the cup on a grass several feet ahead of him.

"Now the Dark Lord will kill you and I will be rewarded," Bellatrix continued happily and kicked Harry in the ribs as she passed him on her way to the golden treasure. "Or maybe I shall kill you myself. He will cherish me for being his most faithful again."

She bent down, eager to seize the cup at last.

"I will be his favou…"

Her fingers touch the metal and something silenced her.

Harry saw her eyes grow comically wide, giving her face a strange, surprised expression. Veins protruded under her skin around her eyes and mouth sickeningly. She tore her hand away with a mighty screech and then with a loud crack she disappeared.

Harry sighed with relief and turned his head back to the centre of the fight.

He saw Voldemort duelling Kingsley and Lupin, Fred blocking Dolohov's curses and Ron working with George on sending Fenrir Greyback to his knees. There were many other but he couldn't recognize them over the darkness and growing chaos. However, he noticed two Death Eaters who were clearly after him, approaching him quickly.

Harry turned back fast, crawling towards the cup.

More curses sang in his hair and he lay down to avoid them.

"_Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!"_

Harry's heart leaped as he recognized that voice and saw the Death Eaters drop to the ground.

"Hermione!" he called, looking wildly around while rising to his feet.

"Harry!"

And then she was there, hugging him warmly, sobbing into his ear.

"Are you all right? We must go! Quickly!"

"We must find the cup!" Harry said quickly, trying to find the golden object which he lost from his sight.

Then another Death Eater appeared out of nowhere, trying to strangle Hermione.

Harry's fist collided with his mask with such a force that he cracked it – along with his own bones. Supressing a scream of pain, Harry twisted the Death Eater's wand out from his hand, pointing it at him.

"_Stupefy!"_

Hermione was faster. The man dropped to the ground, unaware of himself anymore.

"Harry, we must run!"

But Harry turned back again, searching for the goddamn relict. He couldn't see it – it was too dark here.

"_Lumos,"_ he whispered, dodging another spell.

"Harry, he is coming!"

Hermione's screech made him turn in her direction and then he saw him. Voldemort was flying towards them and nothing seemed to be able to stop him.

"_Harry, please!"_

He grasped her hand, running away as fast as he could, both of them stumbling over the scattered stones.

But then something made him stop, almost against his will.

He turned around and saw that Voldemort found what he was looking for and now he was leaning down to retrieve it … exactly like Bellatrix did.

Harry felt as if someone just punched a hole through his chest. Whether it was due to a horse dose of adrenalin in his veins or some momentary insanity, he didn't know. He didn't make any conscious decision. His heart, his lungs and his body took over his mind.

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" he roared so loud that even the majestic stones seemed to vibrate with that sound.

Voldemort froze, his fingers hanging mere inches above the cup.

His eyes searched Harry out and for the first time ever Harry felt some sort of a mutual connection.

The battle around them gradually ceased and now everyone was watching them in silence.

The Dark Lord slowly straightened his spine – he was the only person moving at all. Some of the Death Eaters took it as a sign to continue, but he raised his hand in a clear gesture that commanded his troops to stop – and retreat.

"Harry."

Hermione's whisper and clutch of her hand woke Harry from his stupor.

He followed her as if in trance, looking over his shoulder all the time.

Voldemort was watching him too, but he didn't move.

Harry didn't think … he couldn't think at all. Because he would have to admit to himself that he just betrayed the Order – which was something unthinkable.

Just what was happening to him?

Finally, someone else took a hold of his elbow, speaking to him in a soothing voice.

Harry didn't listen.

Never before he was so afraid to return home.

_**R&R**_

_***Parseltongue**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: **I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting this long, guys. Someone broke my heart in a rather ugly way and as a result I couldn't write anymore; I couldn't cope with my fucked up life. I don't even know why I'm telling you this, it's not like you can help me… Anyway, I think I'm over my sulking period now and ready to continue the story!

P.S. Love life sucks. If you can avoid it, do so. Voldemort was right. Amen.

xxxxx

**The New Hiding Place**

xxxxx

Soon upon his arrival at the doorstep to the new Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry realized that his worries were mostly unwarranted. The moment the compressing darkness finally released him, he was surrounded by his friends and handed down from embrace to embrace in an ear-splitting noise of celebration.

Harry would have understood the clamour if he just killed Voldemort and not the apparent opposite (which was something he still could not properly wrap his mind around). Guilt gripped him at the sight of their happy faces covered in dirt and sometimes even in blood.

Ron and Hermione were clinging to his neck the most and he reciprocated, trying to push all the dark thoughts to the farthermost corner of his mind. Fred then came around and hugged him twice, joking that he stood in for Charlie who had to return to Romania and George, who also wouldn't miss a chance for a prank, tried to kick Harry's butt as if for traitorous Percy. His plans were, however, thwarted by Molly Weasley who saw right through him and screamed at him for a good minute before hugging Harry as well.

"Harry," she said tearfully before pulling away a bit, then holding him at the arm's length and watching him from head to toe with an assessing gaze. "You're so thin! Come … hurry inside, the dinner is ready."

Harry muttered his thanks distractedly, still looking around, unable to think of any food now, even though he had been starving throughout the last week.

He only managed to take a brief glance of the mansion which looked barely habitable from the outside before Ron and Hermione manoeuvred him inside. Fortunately, the interior was not half as bad which meant that the shabby design was probably a part of the camouflage.

"It's amazing that you're still in one piece, Harry," Tonks smirked at him as she joined them. "Especially since you've been You-Know-Who's prisoner for nine days!" she shook her head and her hair turned from soft purple to bubblegum pink.

"Vol- _he_," Harry corrected himself quickly as he met her cautious glance, "Luckily, he was really motivated not to hurt me."

"And how did you accomplish such a remarkable feat?" she asked, incredulous.

Harry rubbed his eyes under the glasses and sighed.

"He's probably the most self-centered person in the universe. Therefore, he had this - reluctance - to hurt someone who looked just like him."

Tonks exchanged a quizzical look with Lupin before she gave Harry a doubtful smile.

"Well … Harry, I hope you won't be too disappointed when I say that I see no resemblance."

"Harry took a Polyjuice Potion," Hermione said quietly. It was the first time she spoke since their reunion and she seemed a bit pale and her voice was a bit off. Harry was strongly reminded the moment when she sat by Ron's sickbed after she learned he was inadvertently poisoned by Slughorn's mead.

"And he looked truly hideous. Exactly like _him_, trust me," Ron gestured wildly and shuddered. "Sorry, mate, but it's true."

"It was an odd experience," Harry said distractedly. His scar began to prickle uncomfortably and he was trying in vain to suppress it. "Not entirely bad, I suppose, for it saved my life at least once and provided some really convenient information about how vastly advanced his senses are, but still…"

"…horrible in the end," Ron finished for him.

"You … you seriously polyjuiced yourself to look like You-Know-Who?-!" Tonks gasped. "How did you – I mean where could you possibly obtain a piece of _him_?"

"We had a - wrestle - in Malfoy Manor recently. And I got his fingernail," Harry shrugged. "Not much to start with, but it worked."

"The best part of it was when Harry punched his balls straight into his brain!" Ron said excitedly. "I wish you could see it! He went down the same way as if he was AKed him right between the eyes!"

The following deaf silence said it all, in Harry's opinion.

"You did – _what_?-!"

Lupin apparently did not believe his ears.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Harry refused to spare a single thought to the only moment when he was allowed – well, _not_ allowed – to touch Lord Voldemort's privates. No reason to think about it at all…

"Harry, stealing You-Know-Who's identity was a veryreckless idea," Lupin said while watching him intently. "And I believed you're clever enough to know that attacking such a dark wizard without a proper plan and a contingent of Aurors in your back equals a suicide!"

"It's not like I had another option to choose! By the way, I'm a bit surprised that you don't know about it yet."

"We know almost nothing," Lupin sighed and turned to Harry's best friends. "Ron and Hermione were very close-lipped about everything concerning you and the Hufflepuff's cup. We don't even know why you needed to steal it in the first place. Hermione only said that Dumbledore entrusted you with a certain secret..."

A warm hand suddenly touched Harry's healthy shoulder.

"Harry."

Harry's breath died in his throat at the sound of the familiar voice. Lupin disappeared into blur as a sea of red hair filled Harry's vision and a pair of cool lips touched his face.

"Ginny...," he croaked out, completely unprepared to meet her.

She was as gorgeous as ever, he realized as he sucked in a dose of fresh air filled with her scent. It only made him feel dirty and blemished beside her perfection. He needed to get rid of that grime that got stuck under his skin, but something was telling him that no matter how long, hot or steamy his bath would be he could never remove that stain from himself. And even smaller part of him argued if he really wanted to. He was an erring man after all and not some faultless hero. If she could accept his flaws, than he would know … he would be absolutely sure that she was the one...

He looked into her eyes, wondering who she saw. The Boy-Who-Lived or Harry Potter?

"Ginny," he repeated more softly.

Her smile was striking. Amazed, he entwined his fingers in her long red hair and pulled her closer. Red like flames … like the fire in _his_ eyes...

Another throb in his scar made him grit his teeth.

How could he deceive her with _him _willingly? How could he enjoy it even for a second, how could he ask for more when this lovely girl was waiting here for him? Maybe his uncle was right when he told him over and over again that he was a horrible freak.

He let her kiss him, but couldn't return the favour properly. He pulled back rather fast and looked around to mask his tremor. Everyone else headed further inside the house, giving them as much privacy as they could.

"So…, he cleared his throat when they were alone, "this is the Order's new hideout?"

"We had to leave the Burrow," she whispered, taking his hand into hers and leading him down the hall after the others, "and move to Aunt Muriel."

"What are you saying?-!" Harry exploded instantly, making everyone ahead turn back to them.

"Didn't Ron and Hermione tell you that the Death Eaters are monitoring this place?-!"

"Even if they are, we..."

Harry didn't hear the rest because a sudden, searing pain shot through his lightning scar. He felt Voldemort's anger and fear rising and spiking inside him like a tsunami. The images of the golden cup bleeding a dark, tarry liquid from a deep crack over the badger flashed behind his closed eyelids. For few seconds he was lost in that blinding sea of rage, but eventually he began to resist that invasion and regained control over his mind. He needed to know the answer to his question first; it was a matter of existential importance.

"What did you say?" he asked breathlessly, leaning against the wall and rubbing his searing forehead wildly.

"Harry - are you all right?" Ginny asked, noticing his sudden indisposition.

"I am fine - just tell me … tell me why you stayed here."

"Ron and Hermione gave us this information, of course," Kingsley, who in the meantime returned to them, replied. "But since the Death Eaters cannot lay a hand on our Secret-Keeper, it is still the safest place to hide. Besides, Hermione mentioned that the Death Eaters_ were ordered_ not to attack us," he added with a small smile. "We didn't know what she meant until now. It was your order, right?"

"But that can be changed by Volde-"

"Harry!" Ginny gasped, but Harry blatantly continued.

"-mort's single decision. Apropos, stop worrying about the Taboo. He removed it."

"How do you know?" Lupin, who still waited for them at the end of the hall, asked firmly.

With the burning pain still racking his brain, Harry had no energy to explain it.

"I just do, trust me."

Scarred face of Harry's ex-teacher reflected deep worries and even Kingsley's expression wasn't much calmer. They motioned him to follow them.

"So you were in contact with the Death Eaters?" Lupin finally asked as they entered a large, dark and dusty sitting room.

"Mostly Snape," Harry said, his head spinning from the constant throbbing of his scar.

"Harry," Kingsley said slowly after taking a seat in one of the large armchairs. "I understand that you probably don't want to talk about it right now, but we need to know what exactly they did to you. I didn't want to ask you that when you were under the Veritaserum with everyone listening but … did they place an Imperius Curse upon you? I guess someone had to do that, otherwise why would you - I'm sorry for the choice of my words – _warn_ You-Know-Who and _protect_ him from harm?"

Harry heard Ginny's surprised gasp and felt her briskly remove her hand from his.

The sudden chill on his fingers was nothing compared to the stiff silence which filled that dim place. Everyone was there, watching him intently. He could see Tonks cradling little sleeping Teddy in her arms, Arthur dragging his feet and pulling at his beige, thick, hand-knitted sweater, Fred and George's curious, inspecting gazes, Bill with his arm wrapped around his tired wife, Aunt Muriel standing at the top of the stairs, rapping her fingers against the banisters and Ron and Hermione sitting at the very bottom of that staircase, holding their hands. He met their eyes, feeling that the world was expanding around him. Or maybe he was shrinking; he wouldn't be able to tell the difference...

Of course they noticed. How could he think, _hope _even for a second, that they would not…

A new surge of guilt followed another piercing prickle in his scar. He rubbed it mindlessly, searching for the right words.

"He betrayed us," Muriel snorted loudly, watching him over the smoke of her pipe. "Like everyone else would after few hours under the Cruciatus Curse."

"For one last time I did not!" Harry cried out, scratching his scar furiously now. A little longer and it would start bleeding.

"I wasn't under the Imperius Curse. I did it to protect you," he snapped before turning on his heel to face Kingsley. "You bewitched the cup somehow, right?"

"Yes," Bill responded with a curt nod. "I did it. I had been studying Egyptian curses for many years. I also learned a lot when I worked as a curse breaker for Gringotts. There are many curses which are tremendously cruel, dangerous and essentially unbreakable, not only the famous Unforgivables. I must admit that the one that I used was … particularly nasty. Please, believe me that I felt really bad about performing that really dark and awful magic, but as you can imagine, most of us believed that you're dead and that all You-Know-Who wanted was to deceive us and murder us. That object was meant to be our one last chance."

"Only he wouldn't have died even if he touched it," Harry returned with a sigh. "His body can be destroyed, true, but that's all. He would survive it like the last time. Nevertheless, if the Death Eaters saw it happen, if he collapsed before them, they would throw a fit. None of us would survive the massacre. We would be all dead by now."

"And why do you think the Death Eaters were holding back on us, Harry?"

"We are all here, aren't we? Everyone survived, right? So either all the Death Eaters forgot how to use the Killing Curse, or he told them to hold back on us - to protect the cup." Harry said firmly.

"I rrreally don't get it," Fleur shook her head, her long blond hair spilling around her face like a halo. "Why is that cup so important? Ron and Herrrmione never explained us why You-Know-Who was so eagerrr to exchange it forrr you."

Harry looked at his friends a nodded a little.

"They couldn't tell you because they are following Dumbledore's orders. And so am I."

"Still the same Dumbledore's orders?" Molly breathed in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Maybe it's time for you to finally tell us what he wanted to be done before you'll pay for that task the highest prize!"

"It's my mission," Harry said simply. "And I have Ron's and Hermione's help. Dumbledore thought that it should be enough."

A mission which was already doomed to be a failure, he thought sourly. Any attempt to destroy the remaining Horcruxes would be a suicide mission since they were all safe now under Voldemort's constant protection. He was the only one who could still hypothetically succeed since Riddle no longer wanted him dead, but he found it immensely difficult to even imagine killing Voldemort after he … after they…

Touched…

Kissed…

No, Voldemort did not kiss him, not even once. His lips only grazed his forehead once in an invitation for his other half to return … home.

That invitation remained ostentatiously ignored.

Harry felt shivery; his scar was still aching, he felt almost feverish.

His friends, on the opposite, looked relieved as if he just gave them a new hope. He didn't have a heart to take it away just yet.

"I need to know more about that curse, Bill," Harry said when he composed himself a bit. "What does it do? I saw Bellatrix touch the cup and she … she immediately disappeared."

Bill appeared to be very self-conscious at that point. He looked at his wife a couple of times and bit his lip hesitantly before finally meeting Harry's eyes briefly.

"I must repeat that what I did doesn't make me proud," he said and Harry nodded in confirmation.

"It's all right."

"Basically that curse sucks out your magic and locks it inside the object upon which the curse had been placed. It's a closed cycle during which the curse becomes stronger and more potent. It may take some time before it kills you, but it is inevitable in the end. Really dreadful stuff..."

"So it draws out your soul?" Harry gasped, exchanging quick glances with Ron and Hermione.

"No, of course not. Nothing can draw out your soul, Harry – except for a Dementor's kiss," Lupin said quietly, but Harry looked back at his friends, since they all knew better about how far the soul magic could go.

"How long does it take for that curse to, you know, drain someone to death?" Harry asked, feeling some dark premonition rise inside him. His head was still spinning from the constant headache and the flashing images which entered his mind whenever he closed his eyes. From what he saw and felt Harry presumed that the curse somehow affected Helga's cup in the end. He could tell so much, because Voldemort was beyond furious now

What could possibly happen when such a horrible dark curse met an equally ugly one which was already placed upon that cup…?

"Hours, maybe even days," Bill told him quietly. "No one really knows for sure but assumedly it depends on the wizard's or witch's stamina."

Harry stopped listening to him for his head was swarmed by questions which popped one after another. Could this curse kill the piece of Voldemort's soul inside the cup? If yes, his friends broke the treaty and Voldemort will surely take revenge upon them. And even if not, he still lost one of his best followers. Harry found himself dreading the consequences...

"I believe that's enough," Molly interrupted his thoughts vigorously. "You're talking and talking while all Harry needs is rest, medicine and some substantial dinner. And the rest of you as well!" she added, raising her voice as she looked over the room.

Harry was then led by her to the dining room, where he ate the meal rather mechanically. He felt that Ron and Hermione were watching him and he understood their silent curiosity. They wanted to know everything what happened but he was not sure if he could tell them. On the other hand, he couldn't solve this puzzle without their help...

Ginny sat back next to him, but Harry barely registered her. He was hoping to get to the bed soon and sleep for ages. A shower or a bath first would also be nice. Just not to think about anything for a couple of hours…

It was when he felt his shirt slide down his left shoulder that he realized her surreptitious way of undressing him.

"G-Ginny?" he stuttered out, suddenly awake from his stupor. The dining room was almost empty if he didn't count his best friends who looked at each other before smiling knowingly. Harry looked back at Ginny, his eyes wide in surprise.

"You were bleeding," she said matter-of-factly and started applying thick amount of healing salve on his sore.

"Um, thanks, but I really..."

She silenced him with her intent gaze. Right, there was no point in arguing about this, Harry agreed. He closed his eyes and let her warm, nimble fingers dance on his skin while he waited nervously for his body to respond to it.

Curiously enough, it did not. His manly pride remained mostly uninterested during whole the procedure. Eventually, he ascribed this apparent malfunction to his ultimate physical and mental exhaustion.

"Whose shirt is this?" she asked a moment later, pulling the fabric down a little more. "It doesn't fit you very well."

"Rather don't ask," he muttered under his breath.

That comment stirred curiosity of everyone in the earshot.

"It's really not yours?" Ron asked immediately, his eyes growing big as saucers.

"Of course it's not, Ron," Hermione admonished him. "Don't you remember what Harry … err … wore last time we saw him?"

"Oh, right," Ron muttered. "How could I possibly forget?"

"It's Malfoy's," Harry eventually admitted with a sigh.

"LUCIUS MALFOY'S?"

"No, not _that_ Malfoy, Ron! It's Draco's. Narcissa gave it to me on Riddle's orders."

"Well," Ron harrumphed, trying to keep his face even. "How thoughtful. Draco must have been thrilled."

His lips twitched a little.

"Imagine his dear mom telling him that You-Know-Who decided that his twenty galleon attire falls into property of Harry Potter…"

Hermione chuckled, keeping her fingers pressed to her lips. Ron sniggered as well, but quickly caught himself. And then, Harry didn't even know who started it, they all laughed openly until they could barely breathe.

It was Ginny, whose mirth ran out first and her face hardened almost instantly.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Harry asked lightly, although a hint of worries seeped into his voice.

She said nothing, only raised her hand and grazed the newly bared skin between his shoulder blades. Harry naturally couldn't see what she saw but he felt that the place was rather sensitive to a touch.

"Fingernails," she said in an empty voice. "There's marks of them all over your back."

The scar on his forehead prickled lightly again as if in response to the copious amount of blood rushing into his face.

Harry licked his dry lips quickly.

"Really?" he said lightly though his own voice sounded false to him. "That's … that must be from the battle," he lied, his heart sinking. "I had a very unpleasant encounter with Bellatrix."

"Very unpleasant encounter," she repeated and got up, leaving the dining room without another word.

Harry stared after her for a while and then he looked back to the empty bowl in front of him. He would not mind to slam his head against it right then and shatter it in half. If he broke his head as well, it would only serve him right.

"Excuse me," he muttered, avoiding Ron's and Hermione's gazes, and set out to follow Ginny to the upper floor. He stopped on the first step though, suddenly losing his motivation.

He was not a fool to think that more lies would make him or her feel any better.

But he just couldn't leave it like this...

"Harry?"

He turned around to face Ron, frowning.

"I must explain to her that ... that I…"

"Nah, not now, mate. Let me show you to our room. Leave everything for tomorrow, okay? I'm sure Ginny will understand."

"But..."

"No buts."

"I need to talk to you too. Both of you," he added and turned to Hermione. "It's important."

"And it won't wait till the morning I suppose," Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head.

"Okay," Ron said under his breath. "You're the boss. I only hope my mother won't see us."

They sneaked quickly and quietly to the upper floor and then locked in Ron's tiny bedroom which was temporarily equipped with a smaller, additional bed. Ron quickly took a seat on it as if to give Harry some notion of comfort by surrendering his old bed to his use. It was funny, since Harry was the last person to care. He used to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs when he was younger.

He made no comment though, except of expressing his thanks. He had more pressing matters on his mind.

Hermione took a seat beside Ron and for the first time Harry really noticed how very close they sat to each other.

"Erm …," he cleared his throat, watching his friends attentively. "Maybe _you_ would like to start with the news first," he suggested.

"Oh … are we really that obvious?" Hermione blushed and cast a quick glance at Ron.

Harry, contrary to how he felt, smiled a little.

"It comes as no surprise," he shrugged. "Congratulations, anyway. It took you some time, I must say."

"We're together only thanks to you, Harry," Ron said a little unsurely. "We thought that you're dead … and that everything's lost and … well it was a breaking point for us all."

"I'm really glad for you – because if my capture didn't work, I don't know what I would do next. I was running out of ideas..."

Ron's uncomprehending stare was interrupted by Hermione's quiet giggle.

"You must be really fine, Harry," Ron said, when he got the point, "joking in this situation."

"Sometimes I surprise myself."

"But that's not what you wanted to tell us, is it?"

Harry's compelled joviality flattened like a punctured tire.

"No…," he breathed out.

When he didn't say anything for a while, Hermione nervously budged up.

"You wanted to talk about … You-Know-Who? Did you figure out what went wrong with that Polyjuice Potion?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "I have an idea and I'm positive that it wasn't your fault, Hermione. There's, however, lot of other things that you need to know first. For example, Voldemort's reclaimed his last Horcrux. It was in Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it all the time!"

"In Hogwarts?" Hermione gasped. "I can't believe he's really been hiding a Horcrux right under Dumbledore's nose!"

"He was convinced that not a living soul knew about his secret, remember? He also believed that no one else knew the Hogwart's secrets like he did. I bet that was the reason why he hid Rowena's 'lost' diadem in the Room of Requirement. He placed it on a dusty old wig – ironically, the very same wig under which was a cupboard where I hid Snape's old potion book."

His friends appeared to be scalded by the news.

"If this is another joke, I'm not laughing," Ron said solemnly after a while.

"I wish."

"That's a … disaster," Hermione admitted hollowly a moment later. "We were so close and now…"

"Don't even remind me that," Harry gritted through his teeth.

"Do you have any idea where is he hiding those items now?"

"I'm sure that he keeps them as close as possible which means they must be somewhere in the Malfoy Manor."

"No, no way we are coming back there!" Ron said resolutely and got up. "Especially not now when he's waiting for us! Moreover, we don't have the sword anymore! We have nothing!"

"Look, I don't want you to tell me your suggestions now," Harry shook his head. "I told you that because I want you to think about it. Riddle's got all the remaining Horcruxes under his protection. We cannot follow the old plan. We have to make a new one or fail horribly," he finished heavily.

"Okay," Hermione nodded slowly. "I'll consider our options. But … it seems to me that there's still something else on your mind, right Harry?"

"Yes," Harry breathed. "Quite a lot. Voldemort's an Animagus, for instance."

Ron winced at the name, looking around as if expecting that tall, dark figure to appear behind the closest corner.

"Calm down, Ron. I already told you that his name is no longer a Taboo."

"He could put it back on. Please, Harry, don't say it."

Harry nodded jerkily, trying hard to resist the absurdity of the situation. Apparently, he could fuck the Dark Lord, yet he still couldn't say his name. On the other hand, his thoughtlessness drove him and his friends to the mortal danger once. No reason to repeat that again.

"So, You-Know-Who's an Animagus," Ron mulled it over aloud and sat down again, seemingly mollified. "Not so big surprise considering how sneaky wizard he is. What form does he take on?"

"You can guess twice."

"A snake," Hermione said without thinking.

"And definitely an unregistered one," Ron filled in instantly.

"Got it at once."

"That's really useful information for the Order, Harry," Hermione said appreciatively.

"Well, I wouldn't say so."

When he met their questioning gazes, Harry had to wonder how to explain what he wanted to explain … without getting some hysterical reactions – especially on Ron's side.

"He … I'm sure he doesn't use that form very often."

"Err … any idea why?"

Ron's eyes were widely dilated, eager to learn more. Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather contemplative.

"Basically," Harry tried to speak as fluently as before but as he was getting to the point, it became more and more difficult. "It's because of … his snake. Nagini."

"Err …You lost me, Harry," Ron muttered, scratching his head. "Any reason why? Does his snake attack him … or something?"

Harry tried his hardest not to blush.

"Yeah … you could put it that way."

"All right," Ron nodded. "That's all very interesting … but is that any important to us? Besides, how come you know about?"

Harry watched him nervously, silently hoping that if he figures it out by himself, maybe it won't be such a shock for him. But that was just a speculation.

"I know it because … I … I turned into that snake."

"AGAIN?" Ron sputtered out.

"Quiet, Ron!" Hermione shushed him instantly.

"No, not Nagini. It wasn't like the last time when I only had a vision and you woke me up," Harry said, rubbing circles into his temples. "This time I turned into a snake for real. It actually saved me from a certain death."

Ron and Hermione stared at him, speechless.

"Look, I'm pretty sure that I'm not an Animagus. So it had to be him," he concluded, his eyes nervously meeting Ron's and Hermione's in turns.

"There must be some other logical explanation which does not involve You-Know-Who…," Ron began shakily but Harry shook his head.

"No. I tried it later on again … and it worked. I'm afraid it would possibly work even now, if I was willing to try – which I'm not."

"And you are absolutely sure that you weren't dreaming," Hermione spoke calmly, straightening her spine a little.

"Positive."

"And you did it repeatedly and you believe it's his doing."

"Yeah … kind of … yeah."

"Do you know what it means Harry?-!" she said, aghast now. "He possesses you!"

In that second Harry could swear he heard a surprised gasp at the doorstep. He hurried over, opened the door, but saw no one. He closed it again then, turned back to his friends who looked completely terrified, and sank back into cushions on his bed. In that moment he doubted his decision. How will they handle the truth which is even worse than that? But he went too far, he had to finish what he started…

"No," he said. "He possessed me two years ago, remember? I believe that in that moment he felt even worse pain than I did. It was unbearable."

"Then … how can he control you? What exactly he did to you, Harry?"

For some reason, the way she worded her question made Harry vividly recall the white, long-fingered hand sliding down his bare chest before winding around him and burying its long fingers into his sweaty back.

He shuddered.

"He's not controlling me, Hermione. The night when I was just a baby and he came to kill me," he began quietly, "his Killing Curse backfired on him. It should send his soul straight into the afterlife, but since he could not die, the curse shattered his soul apart instead. As he fled, he unknowingly left a small piece of himself behind."

"Seriously?" Ron yelped, jumping up from the makeshift bed. "Where did he leave it?-! Do you know where it is?-!"

Harry slowly pointed his finger at his pink hurting scar.

"It's here. It's always been here … living with me."

For a moment Ron appeared as if he just suffered a heart attack. He scrambled backwards from Harry, groping his pockets for his wand while his mouth opened and closed helplessly like a fish thrown onto a dry land. Hermione, fortunately, astounded as she was, kept her wand in the pocket at least.

"He was with me when I asked your mother to show me the entrance to the platform nine and three-quarters," Harry spoke quietly to Ron. "He was with me when you joined me in that compartment and I bought us chocolate frogs. He was with me when I saved Ginny from the Basilisk or when I fought the Dementors. He was also there when I dueled _him_ at the graveyard – and Vol…You-Know-Who did not suspect anything! He did not know who he was trying to kill; he doesn't feel his Horcruxes anymore! The only person who knew the truth was Dumbledore, but he decided to keep me in the dark - for my own good, I suppose. He probably thought I wouldn't be able to handle the truth, but I _have to_ handle it. The question is, if you can handle it too."

Harry got up, slowly approaching his best friend, who still retreated from him, but lowered the wand which shook in his hand. "Look, he was with me, Ron, even when I saved your life after you drank Slughorn's poisoned mead. I'm still the same person. I'm Harry Potter. The only difference is that … that V… You-Know-Who knows the truth as well."

"And that's why he didn't kill you," Hermione concluded calmly, once again in her analytical mode. And Harry was really grateful for her ability to keep her strictly logical approach at any situation. Luckily, she always dealt with crisis this way and her understanding and support felt even better than Ginny's healing salve.

_Ginny…_

"Yes," he said, watching her hopefully.

"That's good news actually," she said then.

"GOOD NEWS?-!" Ron cried, visibly shaking.

"Quit Ron! Fortunately, I used the Muffiato Charm… Anyway, what I meant is that it confirms that Harry wasn't forced to betray the Order and neither is he used to spy on us in any way."

"Having a fucking piece of You-Know-Who's soul inside him is NOT a good way how to spy on us! Excellent thinking, Hermione!"

"He cannot see my mind, I told you!" Harry snapped back, reaching the limit of patience as well.

"Well, it could be that way before but now that he KNOWS…"

It was ultimately surprising that Ron who seemed to be only warming up suddenly fell into a petrified silence.

"G… Gi?" he stuttered out helplessly. "What are you doing here?"

Harry spun around on his heel and his heart stopped.

Her beautiful face was like a wax, her bright brown eyes filled to the brim with tears and her hands helplessly opened and closed.

"Ginny!" Hermione jumped to her feet, more scared than in the moment when Harry told her that a part of Voldemort lived inside him. "How could you hear … you weren't listening, were you?"

She didn't respond. She still watched Harry, who was rendered speechless.

Finally, she seemed to find her lost voice. Her mouth curved into a grimace as she raised her accusatory finger at him.

"Y- YOU DISGUSTING FREAK!" she screamed and with a heart breaking cry she ran out of the opened door.

_**R&R**_


End file.
